Somewhere From There
by LittleMender
Summary: Sequel to 'The End of the Beginning'. He had promised her that he would stay for one year after Red John was killed, and he was as good as his word. How could he have known it would be impossible to leave her?
1. Chapter 1

**SEQUEL TO "THE END OF THE BEGINNING". I don't own the Mentalist, and I am not publishing this for any profit measurable or tangible to another person.**

**Thanks for reading and reviewing!**

**SOMEWHERE FROM THERE**

1. THE MORE THINGS CHANGE, THE MORE THEY STAY THE SAME

He was as good as his word. After Lisbon and Elizabeth Tierney killed Red John and his friends, Jane had remained with the CBI. Elizabeth had likened him to a man who suffered a stroke and needed to relearn how to live. She had asked him to return the favor she'd done him by staying with the unit for one year before deciding what he wanted to do with his life, pointing out that—thanks to the team—he had made a good start, but he needed more rehabilitation. The desire to keep the promises he had made to Lisbon cemented his decision to stay.

Hightower and the rest of the team, who knew nothing of Lisbon's part in Red John's death (although he was sure Cho suspected) had wondered why he stuck with them and finally went with the assumption that he had nowhere else to go. At some point, he decided he wanted to know Grace, Cho and Rigsby as more than the audience to his magic tricks or the unwilling participants in his crazy schemes. He knew that real people had real conversations with their friends in which they did not attempt to read or manipulate them, so he decided to practice that. Of course, Lisbon knew what he was about, and her amused glances at his efforts did not go without his notice. The others were always uncomfortably suspicious when he would ask about their personal lives. Cho had only looked at him blankly then left the room when Jane tried to explain that he didn't mean anything by asking after his mother's health.

It was six months into the year he had promised to stay, and he felt he was making real progress. Once when he asked her, Lisbon begrudgingly admitted it was so. It was enough to encourage him to continue his quest for sincere connection, although he had to admit he often felt shockingly out of his depth.

He had never known Lisbon or the others without the shadow of Red John hanging over them. They were all more at ease now, both with their work and with one another. Lisbon and Van Pelt had kept up their every-Wednesday, women-only lunches, Jane sometimes trying to wheedle an invite to accompany them, both women only laughing at him as they left him behind. He had subtly made sure he and Lisbon had lunch alone together at least every other week, thereby instituting their own tradition, even though he didn't think she was aware that's what it was. He couldn't be sure—she had fooled him so ably before. The senior agent was more open and sometimes let her carefully constructed guard down, though such times were still few and far between. Her temper flared at Jane on a regular basis, but the strain of waiting for the serial killer's inevitable next strike was gone. In spite of the fact that she had been directly and unlawfully responsible for his end, she was starting to relax little by little.

Her friendship with Jane continued to grow as did their partnership. She accompanied him once to his wife's and daughter's graves. He thought he might return, perhaps on their birthdays, to spend a few quiet moments—would probably even invite Lisbon to come along since it seemed easier with her there. He made more of an effort to respect her authority, and she made more of an effort to refrain from doing him bodily harm when he didn't. He had even visited her a few times at her home—which he still referred to as the safe house—including once when she called in sick to take her some soup and donuts from Marie's.

There were the usual sort of cases, some mundane and some not, some textbook and some difficult. Still they continued on, some things changing, some things staying the same.

Like right now.

She was ranting. Again. All he did was make a suggestion. It always went this way. When would she learn? He usually just rode out the storm, trying not to smirk, knowing it only made her angrier. Things had been going very well in their relationship, both professionally and personally. He was doing his best to behave. He'd been standing there with his hands jammed into his jacket pockets seeming to take it all in that calm way she found so irritating. But suddenly he just couldn't take it anymore.

"Why do you always do that?"

She stopped mid-tirade, her arm curving out from her body, palm facing away from her.

"Do what?"

"Not listen. And argue. I propose a perfectly plausible theory, and because I haven't spent hours canvassing and calling and doing "good police work", you just reject anything I have to offer out of hand. I'm not some kind of crackpot, you know. There's a reason the bureau keeps me on the payroll."

She was still standing there, with the same expression, in the same position, making the same gesture. He almost expected her to pick up where she left off as if someone had pushed pause and only had to hit play. Instead she jammed both hands into her trouser pockets and sulked at him through her bangs like a rebellious teenager.

"I don't do that _all_ of the time."

"Yes. Yes, you do. Even now, you're arguing about whether or not you argue. I can tell you're not sure. You're doing a mental check, trying to come up with the one time—the _one time_—you didn't automatically argue with me."

She wanted to take offense, but when she really looked at him, she could tell he was somewhat hurt. It was true, what he said. She knew it was because she actually did it on purpose as well as on principle. It was a defense mechanism. If she could put the brakes on at the beginning, it would keep things from getting out of hand. It would slow everything down—slow _him_ down—so she wouldn't feel like she was losing control.

"Uh-huh." He lowered himself to her eye level as he released one hand from its pocket and pointed his finger, just inches away from her face. "That's it, Lisbon. Let realization dawn."

When she saw his arrogance start to resurface along with his opened-mouth smile, any sympathy or guilt she felt faded away. Childishly, she wanted to take hold of his finger and bend it back, catching herself when she realized the team as well as most of the floor was watching the exchange. All she could do was stand there and simmer.

Jane certainly wasn't a crackpot. He could see the warning signs. A year ago, he would have gleefully pushed her over the edge. But not now. He didn't want to keep up the game in public. Making her blush was one thing, but embarrassing her in front of the others was something else. He suggested they continue their discussion in the SUV on the way to question the widow of their recent murder victim, whom Jane had noticed wasn't really grieving at all appropriately. She agreed. Once inside the confines of the vehicle, however, he knew all bets would be off. He decided to try and get the first blow in. She beat him to it.

"I'm sorry."

"You always want to contr—What?"

"You're right. I want to control every situation. I want to control _you_. You're nearly always right. I nearly always argue, and I'm sorry."

He gaped at her for a moment but found he couldn't let it go.

"Well, good. As long as you admit you're in the wrong—"

"I didn't say anything about being in the wrong. There's a reason—"

"Please, Lisbon, I think it would be better if we just didn't say anymore on the matter. Obviously, feelings are running high."

A strangled sort of noise, something between a gag and a growl, vibrated out of her little being as she turned on the ignition with such force that Jane was amazed the key didn't snap off. He sat back in his seat with a smug expression that vanished immediately when Lisbon hit the brakes at the parking lot exit a bit too hard. In the heat of their near argument, he had neglected to put his seatbelt on, and she had neglected to remind him. The sudden jolt sent him sliding forward in the leather seat, catching himself just before he smacked into the dashboard. He turned to look at her accusingly, just barely catching the smirk she tried to conceal by looking out her window. He decided to let it go, sat back again, and having clicked his seatbelt, rode in silence for the duration of the trip.

When they reached their destination, Jane and Lisbon went into the usual routine of snooping and questioning respectively. By the time they left, Lisbon was sure Jane was right. The widow did it. They interacted so easily and freely on the return trip, both let their relief that all was forgiven go unspoken. It was the way they did things.

Back at the CBI, Van Pelt had discovered the victim had an obscenely large life insurance policy. The widow had filed to collect before her husband's body was even cold. Rigsby and Van Pelt brought her in, and Cho extracted the confession, shaking his head at how stupid and predictable most criminals were. Jane lay on his sofa and dozed as the others worked to wrap up the case. Two hours later, Lisbon walked out into the quiet bullpen.

"We have a case."


	2. Chapter 2

**Ok, this is shaping up to look like pure fluff, but I promise we'll get to the crime eventually. I think I just enjoyed the season premiere so much, it has affected me in a fluff sort of way. I loved the interaction between Jane and Lisbon-quirky with an underlying darkness, just like their friendship. And I'm so glad they finally let Lisbon look almost as smart as I know she is. If I owned 'The Mentalist', which I don't, I would have written her that way a lot sooner**

2. CLICKED

They drove to the crime scene in the usual formation: Lisbon and Jane in one car followed by Cho, Rigsby and Van Pelt in the other. No one ever questioned the arrangement. In fact, there was an array of fairly predictable reactions—surprise, hesitance, reluctance and disappointment—when the boss decided, for whatever reason, to change things up. Thankfully, that didn't happen often.

A body had been found in a car near Bishop, California. The little town marked the convergence of several national parks: Yosemite, Sequoia, Death Valley and Kings Canyon. It was Friday, and the callout meant they would be working over the weekend. But, it was a nice day for a drive, they had nothing else to do and the case would take them into some beautiful countryside. As long as Cho had his book, Rigsby his snacks, and Van Pelt some peace and quiet, they weren't going to complain. The three agents wondered idly what was going on in the other vehicle. They all knew Jane was as good at sending the boss into a seething rage as he was at cheering her mood—and took equal delight in doing both. They hoped he was using his powers for good.

The fact that Lisbon hadn't suddenly pulled over during the five-hour trek to demand a switch in passengers was a good sign. It also meant they could hope that things would go smoothly at the crime scene.

In the lead car, Lisbon was thinking, and Jane was willing to leave her to it. Sometimes, when he knew she was working through some question or concern, he would just let her have her space . . . _sometimes_. He usually chose to infringe, telling himself that she needed his help to move the process along. He never knew how his "help" would be received. She would by turns angrily reject his overtures, or she would thoughtfully respond with a short but telling answer to his prodding. She would either remind him that they didn't discuss their personal lives in the unit when what she really meant was that _she_ didn't want to discuss _her_ personal life and it was none of his business. Or, he would be allowed a small insight. The latter did not happen often because she didn't like being a target for his blatant nosiness. When it did, he accepted her confidences as a kind of reward, the bestowal of a rare gift.

She had told him once that she thought they had become best friends, and she was right. She was the first real friend he had ever had. He knew he wasn't very good friend material, but Lisbon took him as he was found. She was often frustrated with him, but she didn't judge him and only tried to fix what was broken. She helped him readily, listened to him intently, conversed with him eagerly, argued with him heatedly and protected him fiercely. And she always, always forgave. While she didn't always trust his actions, she did trust his motives. She was most often his accomplice in his schemes, and she had mastered the art of dealing with Hightower, eventually telling her that she would not defend her team anymore and would let their record speak for them. He held and kept some of her secrets as she did his. He trusted her implicitly. She lied to him occasionally, but he knew that she knew she didn't fool him, so he didn't think that counted.

Right now, Lisbon was wondering why they had been called out for this case. The officer-in-charge was sure it was murder, and it was in an area where several jurisdictions overlapped. But he had given scant information as to why this would be a case for the Serious Crimes Unit of the CBI.

She recognized the car immediately. By the way he tensed at her side, she knew Jane did too. The little Honda Civic of a particular shade of green at the side of the highway belonged to Tina Landry, the widow of the victim of a murder they had solved five months prior. Lisbon remembered clearly the first interview with her. The local P.D. had already notified Mrs. Landry of her young husband's death. Glad that unpleasant hurdle had already been cleared, Lisbon had approached the visit with her usual grim professionalism. But something about the small girl in her early twenties, holding her newborn baby, hurting but resilient, grieving but direct, young and slight but intelligent and strong, had moved Teresa very quickly from addressing her as Mrs. Landry to simply calling her Tina. Jane had noticed Lisbon's body language grow relaxed and accepting toward the girl. He was glad because he took that as an indication that Lisbon, who to his knowledge never went solely by gut instinct, was just as certain of her innocence as he was.

The case had been complicated, taking them just over two weeks to solve. During that time, he knew that Lisbon's first priority was helping Tina Landry. She had abandoned their motel to stay with the young widow and help her take care of her infant son. The girl was stoic throughout the investigation, but when Teresa told her they arrested Micah Landry's boss for the murder, she finally broke down. Jane had stood quietly by and watched while Lisbon held her, rubbing her back, whispering to her and stroking her hair. She had finally put Tina and her baby to bed. Before they got in their vehicles and drove away, Lisbon had arranged for a neighbor to stay with them in case the little boy awakened. He could tell that it ate at her all the way back to Sacramento. Since then, the two women had kept in contact by e-mail and occasional phone calls. He knew a message from Tina had come in for Lisbon the day before, but she had been out all day at depositions, and when she had finally gotten back to the office had decided to put off returning the call until morning because of the late hour.

Now Lisbon stood looking in the car at the body of Tina Landry. The officer-in-charge was saying something to her.

"I'm glad you could make it out here again, Agent Lisbon."

Jane knew that was true. He had watched the officer check her out at every opportunity the last time they had been in the area.

"I don't know what to make of this."

Jane was pretty sure that was true, too.

The OIC lifted Tina's head from the steering wheel to give them a look at the wound. Lisbon mentally catalogued everything she saw.

_A single gunshot wound to the head, probably from a distance. Sniper? Professional? We'll have to wait on ballistics. A lot of blood on the headrest. Through and through with a large exit wound._

The faded eyes were open, and Tina's wrist was draped through one of the openings in the steering wheel. The impact of the bullet had jerked her foot off of the accelerator, causing the car to slow. Her right wrist falling on the steering wheel had pulled the car to the shoulder where it came to an abrupt halt against a small outcropping of rock.

Lisbon was having trouble breathing around the tightness in her chest. The blood had rushed to her head, and her heartbeat pounded in her ears, making a loud, fuzzy noise, muffling the other sounds around her. She knew she was talking, asking and answering questions, but she was on professional autopilot. The officer was handing her something. Her own business card. She left it on Tina's bedside table the last time she saw her. Tina had written on the back of the card that if anything were to happen to her to call Lisbon's number. A hand on her shoulder. A gentle squeeze. Her first clear thought was that Tina had felt herself to be in some kind of danger. Her second was . . . _Will. Where's the baby?_

As the officer continued to rattle off what his team had discovered, she became increasingly aware of a grating noise coming from somewhere. A baby crying. She looked over and saw a female officer trying to comfort the little boy. She was vaguely amused that someone had assumed that the only woman on the force was the logical candidate to babysit. Another squeeze from the warm hand pulled her out of the fog. She took out her pad and pen and started taking notes, asking more specific questions. The crying grew louder, and, sensing Lisbon's increasingly distracted state, Jane made his way to take the baby and returned to her side. Will was somewhat mollified but continued to cry. Finally, Lisbon reached her limit.

"Oh, good _grief_!" she huffed.

Shoving pad and pen toward Jane, she took the boy from him, held him with his back to her with her arm across his upper abdomen and began patting his back with her other hand. He stopped crying immediately. As she asked questions, Jane was startled by her abrupt actions into taking notes for her. When had he _ever_ taken notes? He didn't know _how_ to take notes. Finally fully aware of the here and now, Lisbon drilled the officer for information. After a minute or so, Will burped loudly. Lisbon turned the baby to face her and gave him a look of approval for doing exactly what she wanted him to do. She continued her conversation with the now thoroughly rattled officer, throwing in some berating for his sloppy handling of the crime scene for good measure. When she was satisfied she had gleaned as much information as possible from the scene as well as put the flirtatious officer firmly in his place, she started back to the SUV with the child still in her arms.

"Get the car seat and diaper bag."

Jane looked around, assumed she was talking to him and complied. Under her watchful eye, he installed the seat in the SUV.

"No, behind you, not behind me, so I can keep an eye on him over my shoulder." "That strap goes through there." "Make sure it's buckled securely." "Are you sure it clicked? I didn't hear it click."

"Nag", he mumbled.

"What?"

"Nothing", he answered, glad the little boy held most of her attention. He wondered briefly if this is what it felt like to be whipped. He stepped out of the way and let her put Will in the seat, watching her expertly adjust the harness. Her actions seemed so natural that the fact that she had kissed the child on the forehead didn't register until they were both in the car putting on their own seatbelts.

He'd seen Angry Lisbon. They were well acquainted. Also Workaholic Lisbon, By-the-Book Lisbon, Loyal Lisbon, In-Charge Lisbon, Don't-Mess-With-Me-and-Mine Lisbon, Fierce Lisbon, Valiant Lisbon, even Vulnerable Lisbon. But Maternal Lisbon . . . that was a new one.


	3. Chapter 3

**I don't own "The Mentalist", and Avril Lavigne owns "Keep Holding On". There's also a reference to MapQuest, and I don't own that either. Darn.**

3. KEEP HOLDING ON

They went back to the local law enforcement office where a makeshift headquarters was set up for them. The OIC told Lisbon that the nearest Family Services office was in Bakersfield, about four hours away. Because it was Friday and Bakersfield was in another county, it would be Monday before arrangements could be made. She looked at him quizzically, and took a long moment to comprehend that he was talking about arrangements for Will's care. Jane realized the point of her confusion and was amused that it hadn't crossed her mind that _she_ wouldn't be taking care of him.

A detached grunt of "huh" was her only response. She turned from him and, based on the information they had, started the case discussion with her team. While she talked, Lisbon handed Will to Jane, made a bottle, retrieved Will and proceeded to feed him. During the course of taking care of the baby, she inventoried the large diaper bag and found a full can of baby formula and several days' worth of diapers. The mapquested directions from Bishop to the CBI offices found in the Honda's glove compartment were a fairly certain indication that Tina had been coming to see her. The gun hidden beneath them strengthened her suspicion of the young mother's fears.

Micah Landry had been a volunteer with the sheriff's department. Most of the deputies and park rangers in the area were familiar with Tina. They helped the unit compile a list of Tina's friends, as well as Micah's former co-workers. It was getting late in the day, and Lisbon decided interviews could wait until the next morning.

They went back to their hotel to settle in. Instead of the usual barely suitable place for which the CBI was willing to foot the bill, they'd taken rooms at a pretty little lodge, sort of a mom-and-pop inn that overlooked Kings Canyon.

Jane joined the rest of the team for dinner at a local cafe, but Lisbon opted to take her food to-go back to the hotel. The team's conversation centered on the case and eventually veered to talk of the boss' surprising maternal acumen. The case was puzzling, but it was the latter subject that held Jane's interest. He finally left with a half-baked excuse about needing his rest and headed back to the lodge.

Within minutes he found himself at Lisbon's door. He raised his hand to knock. Was that . . . cooing? He rapped softly. The noises coming from inside ceased abruptly. After a few seconds the door opened, and Jane faced the opening with a grin, ready with a smart comment. But the doorway was empty. He leaned his head into the room and realized Lisbon had snatched the door open and headed straight back to the bed where Will lay on his back, holding one of his chubby feet to his mouth.

"Sorry. I didn't want him to roll off the bed. Is there something you need, Jane?"

He stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. "No, I just wanted to see how you and the little man were getting along. Thought I might be able to help."

"What? Like, if I need to pull a quarter out of his ear?" She leaned back and smirked at him.

"Ah. Sarcasm." She just laughed at him.

"We're fine. He really is a good baby." She looked at the little boy softly before turning her attention back to the papers lying in front of her on the bed. She sat with one leg curled beneath her and the other dangling off the mattress, making notations with her right hand, her left gently rubbing Will's stomach. From time to time, she would absentmindedly lean down and kiss his fingers or toes without taking her eyes from the pages she was intent on reading. The child kept his eyes on her, smiling and babbling. Jane completely understood Will's fascination. He was definitely on the same page.

When she turned and looked at him with her brow wrinkled, he realized she must have asked him a question.

"Sorry, what?"

"I said, do you think we could've missed anything in her husband's case that could be connected to this? What's wrong with you? You've been off all afternoon. You need to pay attention."

He was paying very close attention. Were those little fish on her pj shorts?

"Jane!" she barked.

"I'm thinking . . . husband's case . . . connected . . ." Had he ever seen Lisbon in a pink tank top? _Think._

"It's possible they're related. More probable. It would be too great a coincidence. Do you have the husband's case file?"

"I had the hard copy faxed," she said, motioning to the documents in front of her. "Would you take a look at them? And keep an eye on the baby for a minute?"

She stood, and he took her place on the bed. Placing his hand on the baby's tummy, he made a pretense of reading while he watched her slip some half empty baby food jars into the mini-fridge then carry a baby dish and spoon into the bathroom to wash them. Unaware she was being observed, she looked at herself in the mirror, turning and tilting her head in all directions to look at her face, her nose, her chin, her messy sports bun, the way her bangs moved. Finally, looking directly at her reflection, she scrunched her nose before turning her attention to drying the dishes. Had she always been this cute?

Resolutely, he turned his attention to the file in front of him.

Nearly an hour later, having taken a seat at the small secretary with his back to the room so he could concentrate on Micah Landry's file, Jane leaned back in his chair and sighed, rubbing his hand across his forehead and down his face. They had closed the case with their usual efficiency. Between his bold scheme and Lisbon's tenacious attention to detail, no stone had been left unturned. Nothing in the file indicated a connection between the deaths. He was reminded of how sad this case had been. Micah Landry was a good man. He had loved and been proud of his little family. They were literally all each other had. Micah and Tina were true orphans—no other family, immediate or extended. He worked hard to provide so Tina could stay home with the baby. He'd even managed to provide for her after his death with a healthy life insurance policy. He hadn't wanted to tell Tina about it. She didn't like to think about that kind of thing. He'd even pre-planned and pre-paid for his funeral without telling her. All he had wanted to do was take care of her and his son. He admired Micah for thinking of it _before_ something terrible had happened. He had cared for them with a sacrificial single-mindedness that had escaped Jane. He wondered if he had been the one to die and his wife been left behind, would she have had the assurance of such love?

Lisbon was right. He was self-centered and narcissistic. Here he was, looking at the story of this young man's exemplary life and tragic death, and he had managed to turn his thoughts to himself. He really hadn't changed so much.

He turned to look at the bed. Lisbon lay on her side facing him, her body curved around Will, one arm encircling the sleeping child. She had positioned a pillow on the other side of him so he wouldn't fall off the bed if he rolled away from her. That wasn't likely. He lay turned toward her, one little hand grasping her protecting arm and the other curled softly into a fist by his mouth, the thumb lax between his lips.

Jane had noted the changes in Will since the last time they'd seen him. His downy hair had lengthened into soft, white-blonde curls. The newborn blue eyes had darkened to a tawny brown. He had two bottom teeth just peeking out. He really was a beautiful boy. Lisbon's lips barely touched his head, and Jane thought she must have fallen asleep kissing him. Lisbon seemed awfully attached to the little man. He hoped it wouldn't hurt too much when she had to give Will up. It was like her to give everything she had to taking care of him. That's the way she approached everything. She did more than protect and defend. She comforted and gave hope, helped and healed. She was sort of his hero.

He could imagine the eye roll and accompanying snort Lisbon would give him if she ever heard him say that out loud.

He found an extra blanket in the closet and covered them. On impulse, he leaned down and kissed the sleeping boy and caught himself before he did the same to Lisbon as if it was the natural thing to do. Now where had that come from? He did touch her a lot, but it was mostly to get a rise out of her by encroaching on her personal space and disregarding her boundaries. Wasn't it? He would take hold of her arm and lift it sometimes to check the time on her wristwatch. That had only irritated her once. Since then, she accepted the infringement with patient indifference. Then there were the times he would guide her through a door with his hand at the small of her back or into a room with his hand at her elbow. She never seemed to mind that, though. Recently, when they were riding together in his car, Lisbon was asleep, and he had given in to a sudden, irresistible urge to reach over and ghost his fingertips back and forth along her hand and wrist. When she awoke, he had withdrawn his hand so she wouldn't realize what had brought her out of her sleep. Why _did_ he touch her so much? As he stood looking down at her, he realized she had been the one to initialize his reentry into humanity. She was his point of contact.

She murmured softly and turned her head toward him slightly as if she could feel his eyes on her. He pulled back and started toward the door. Thinking better of it, he grabbed the extra pillow from the closet and stretched out on the couch. Lisbon may need help with Will in the night.

"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""

Jane awoke to a room lit with early morning sun. He was vaguely aware of running water. Someone was singing. It was some song he had heard in a bookstore while a video of a girl with long hair and heavy eye-liner flashed on a plasma screen. Lisbon was singing in the shower.

_You're not alone  
__Together we stand  
__I'll be by your side, you know I'll take your hand_

The water stopped. He slowly turned his head and looked toward the bed. No baby. He looked around. No infant seat.

_When it gets cold  
__And it feels like the end  
__There's no place to go  
__You know I won't give in  
__No I won't give in._

He could tell she was out of the shower now. Probably drying off. Maybe towel drying her hair. He could hear a smile in her voice.

_Keep ho-o-o-olding o-o-on  
_'_Cause you know we'll make it through, we'll make it through  
__Just sta-a-ay stro-o-ong  
_'_Cause you know I'm here for you, I'm here for you_

The next part was a duet, Will laughing at Lisbon, Lisbon laughing as she sang.

_There's nothin' you can say  
__Nothin' you can do  
__There's no other way when it comes to the truth  
__So keep ho-o-olding o-o-on  
_'_Cause you know we'll make it through, we'll make it through_

The door opened quietly and Lisbon peered out at the couch, holding the swaying and evidently heavy infant seat.

"Oh, good. You're awake. Can you watch him while I dry my hair? There's a bottle in the fridge. He's probably hungry, so if he starts to fuss, just microwave it and feed him. I'll hurry so you can get back to your room and change."

Jane stood as she spoke to do as she asked. The door closed, and he could just make out her humming over the sound of the blow dryer. He looked down at the wide-eyed child whose expression seemed to ask, "And _who_, may I ask, do you think _you_ are?"

"I know, I'm not the one you want, but you're stuck with me for now. Let's just do what the woman says. Believe me, it'll be a lot easier that way."

And with that, Jane set about following instructions. He paused when he realized he had moved without hesitation to obey Lisbon. That seemed to be happening a lot lately. He grinned when the humming abruptly stopped, knowing the same realization had just hit on the other side of the door.


	4. Chapter 4

**I still don't own The Mentalist.**

4. MOMMY TERESA

Later that morning, the team plus Will met for breakfast. Van Pelt offered to help with the baby and took turns eating her oatmeal and fruit and feeding him a meal that was actually very similar. Lisbon watched for a moment and, assured of Van Pelt's competence, proceeded to go over the case.

"Jane didn't find anything in Micah's file that points to a link with Tina's murder, so we're approaching this as an unrelated case. Here's the list of Micah's ex-co-workers. Cho and Rigsby, see how many of them you can track down. I know it's Saturday, but in a small town like this, maybe it won't be too hard. Try to find out if anybody had a reason to want Tina dead. Van Pelt, you're at headquarters. Jane and I will take Tina's friends and neighbors."

The agents hurriedly finished their breakfast then broke to tackle their assignments. Jane's face crumpled in disappointment when he realized he wouldn't be able to finish his eggs. He opened his mouth to complain and snapped it shut when he saw Lisbon glaring at him. She lifted the car seat and strode from the café.

"Jane, you're with me." She tossed back over her shoulder.

Jane felt a little ill used. He was accustomed to being the star of the show, or at least the star of the car. He wasn't sure how he felt about sharing Lisbon's attention. On the other hand, Maternal Lisbon was proving to be a very interesting subject of observation. He didn't quite know why, but he was fascinated by even the most mundane actions she engaged in with her temporary charge. He managed to hurriedly swallow two more bites of egg and a large gulp of tea as he slid out of his chair to follow her.

They spent the rest of the morning and part of the afternoon in what appeared to Jane to be pointless interviews. Over the years, he had learned that his definition of pointless equaled Lisbon's definition of thorough.

"Look, Jane, if we don't talk to everybody with a connection, a good defense attorney can question why we didn't exhaust all lines of inquiry. That gives him room to plant a seed of reasonable doubt in the jurors' minds. We have to look into everything and everyone _before_ the defense does."

Nope. He still thought it was pretty pointless. But he did enjoy the exercise a bit more this time. After his breakfast, Baby Will had fallen sound asleep. As Lisbon conducted interviews, people were surprised and amused when the all-business agent introduced herself and her colleague then put the sleeping child in his seat on the floor. Twice the baby had started to fuss, and without breaking the rhythm of her questioning or copious note taking, Lisbon had lightly tapped the end of the infant seat with her foot into a soft rocking motion, quieting him back to sleep. Jane was so preoccupied with her movements that he could barely concentrate on the matter at hand, mentally shaking himself to accomplish the seemingly monumental task of asking coherent and relevant questions. A few hours later, they had wrapped up the interviews and were on their way back to the office to compare notes with the others.

As Jane had expected, neither team had gotten much in the way of useful information. Van Pelt had used the time to look into Tina's financials. Micah had purchased $2,000,000 in life insurance and set up a trust with a local bank so Tina could live off the interest from investments. If she lived frugally, a lifestyle to which she was accustomed, she would be able to pay off the house and save enough for Will's college plus have money for her old age, not needing to work unless she wanted to. Because it was Saturday afternoon, Van Pelt couldn't get any more specifics on the trust but did have the names and home addresses of Tina Landry's attorney and the trust officer at her bank. Lisbon thought a moment then gave instructions.

"Two million dollars makes for a pretty good motive. We need to talk to Tina's attorney and the trust officer. Cho and Rigsby, talk the trust officer. Jane and I will interview the attorney. We'll meet back here before we go to dinner. Good work, Van Pelt."

Checking on the trust was the dry, uninteresting kind of investigating in which Jane didn't usually take part, but Lisbon was so focused he didn't want to break her stride. He also didn't want to miss an opportunity to watch her, now with more concern than mere curiosity. As the day progressed, he had noticed her looking at Will a lot more, fussing over him and touching him more. She kept him with her when it would be easier, as well as more sensible, to leave him with Van Pelt. He knew she was beginning to think about Monday morning when she would have to let him go. Once they were situated in the SUV, Jane having installed Will's car seat to Lisbon's satisfaction, they headed into town. Lisbon didn't talk. She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't notice Jane blatantly watching her as they washed across her face in quick succession. When he saw tears hover in her eyes, he knew she was grieving Tina Landry and the inevitable loss of the little boy.

He took hold of her hand as it lay on the console between them. Embarrassed that he had noticed her show of emotion, she tried to draw away from him, but he held fast.

"Lisbon, I'm—"

"Please don't. Don't be kind or sympathetic right now. I don't think I could stand it."

She was desperate for him to not push her to show him anymore of what she was feeling.

"Okay. You're really pretty bitchy in the morning, and sometimes you walk funny."

She let out a surprised laugh so abruptly that she snorted. Then she rotated her hand under his until she was able to entwine their fingers together. He thought for a moment it was a sweet gesture of affection, but then her whole face puckered as she squeezed his hand until it hurt.

"Uncle! Uncle! Geez, Woman! I was only offering a little friendly comfort!

"Well, don't."

Flexing his fingers and rubbing his hand to restore circulation, he grumbled at her.

"Don't worry. It'll never happen again."

Her eyes slid sideways at him, and he was rewarded with a smile.

Allen Neville's house was just off Main Street in the heart of Bishop. Luckily, he was at home. Even luckier, his home was also his office. When he came to the door, Lisbon flashed her badge.

"Mr. Neville, my name is Special Agent Teresa Lisbon and this is Patrick Jane. We're with the California Bureau of Investigation. I'm sorry to bother you on a Saturday afternoon, but we'd like to talk with you about Tina Landry." Jane had heard this opener hundreds of times. Lisbon always repeated it in the same bored sing-song voice, as if she was certain it would gain her access, which it almost always did.

Neville—bookishly attractive and a few years Lisbon's junior— gave her a once over, obviously thrown. Apparently Agent Lisbon in person was not what he had expected. He quickly recovered and cleared his throat.

"Yes, Agent Lisbon, I was hoping to meet with you soon. We have a lot to discuss. I see you already have custody of Mrs. Landry's son."

Very forthcoming, thought Jane, if a little oddly stated. They stepped into the house and followed Neville to his office. Jane listened half-heartedly to their conversation, sure they would learn little of interest from Lawyer Neville.

"What can you tell me about your dealings with Tina?"

"Well, as you know, I made out her will. I have a copy here for you. I had thought we could handle this business in a more formal manner, but since you're here, why don't we just go ahead and take care of the details?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Neville, I don't understand. This is a simple interview regarding matters that may have had something to do with Tina Landry's death. Why would we need to handle this in 'a more formal manner'?"

"Now _I_ don't understand, Agent Lisbon. Aren't you here regarding your mention in Mrs. Landry's will?"

Jane was all ears.

"What?" Lisbon asked confused.

"You're mentioned in her will. Regarding custody of her son."

"What?" Lisbon croaked.

"It was Mrs. Landry's wish that in the event of her death, you take custody of William Micah Landry as his legal guardian. She also left a letter for you. Now if we could just take a few minutes to go over these papers, and then I'll ask you to sign."

Lisbon turned to face Jane as if Neville was speaking a foreign language and Jane could interpret for her. Finding him for once speechless, and ironically of no help in that long-desired state, she turned back to the attorney who still sat holding a pen out to her.

She now stared at the pen as if it somehow held the answers or could give the counsel she desperately needed. For the second time that day, Jane watched her emotions flicker across her face. He knew her mind was racing because he couldn't keep up. He thought he might have to give her a shake and remind her to breathe when suddenly her face cleared and she squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. Taking the pen, she signed and initialed at every place the attorney indicated. When she finished, she sat back and the breath she was holding escaped from her small frame in a whoosh. She turned to Jane again, this time her eyes gleaming with something he could only identify as pure pleasure. She looked like she'd just won the lottery. He realized she was waiting for him to say something . . . analytical? Deep? Encouraging? Momentous? He went with the first thing that popped into his head, pleased when her eyes widened and she burst into surprised laughter.

"Congratulations, Lisbon. It's a boy."

Their meeting with Neville lasted two hours between finalizing Lisbon's custody and her questioning the attorney. Neville walked them to the door and shook Lisbon's hand just a second or two longer than Jane thought necessary.

On the way back to the station, Lisbon didn't say a word, yet at the same time, couldn't seem to contain herself. She kept smiling and wrinkling her brow and periodically shaking her head. Not like denial or second guessing herself. More like happy disbelief. She was very happy. Jane felt pretty happy too.

The other vehicle was back, and Lisbon wanted to hear what Cho, Rigsby and Van Pelt had found out. She walked around the SUV to get Will, but Jane beat her to it.

"I'll get your baby. You go ahead."

She smiled and nodded, then turned and walked into the building. Was that a skip? He leaned over Will who looked at him with the drop-dead expression he seemed to have adopted especially for Jane.

"Come on. Let's go in and help your mom solve this case."

Will gurgled up at him. When Jane carried the baby in, Rigsby couldn't help wondering why he looked so smug.


	5. Chapter 5

**I still don't own The Mentalist or any of its characters. Thanks to everyone for reading, reviewing, alert-ing and favorite-ing.**

5. NO SUCH THING AS COINCIDENCE

When Jane entered the building, Cho was reporting on their non-interview with the trust officer. They had gone to Richard Acer's house and been told by his wife that he was away on a business trip at a bank and trust seminar in Los Angeles. Van Pelt made some phone calls and confirmed that he had been there since two days before the murder.

Lisbon was frustrated. The only person they needed to talk to was out of town for two more days. They had no suspects. No one seemed to have a motive. The only one benefiting in any way so far from Tina's death was herself. Realizing that Rigsby had picked up where Cho left off, Lisbon's mind jerked back to attention.

Acer was a former military officer, serving as a Ranger with Special Forces in the Gulf War. He was an avid hunter and had a large gun collection—everything from antique pistols to military grade high-powered rifles.

Lisbon knew a military record and gun collection did not a murderer make. Her experience told her the opposite was usually true. But she could not escape the fact, confirmed by Forensics, that Tina Landry had been shot by a gunman from several hundred yards with sniper-like precision. She decided a return trip to the Acer home couldn't hurt. They would have just enough time to re-interview Acer's wife before dinner. Leaving Will with an agreeable Van Pelt, she strode to the door. Jane didn't wait for the order to follow her.

Ruth Acer was a small woman. Not small like Lisbon. Small like life had made her that way. She was hesitant to let the agent and consultant into her home but didn't have the backbone to deny them entry.

"I don't understand, Agent Lisbon. I told your colleagues my husband has been out of town on business. You really should wait until he gets back and speak with him at the bank on Monday. He could tell you more than I could."

"We just need to ask a few follow-up questions, Mrs. Acer."

Lisbon softened her voice as she talked with the woman to try and calm her. She did not miss Mrs. Acer's eyes nervously following Jane as he made his way around the living room. He had stopped at the fireplace mantel to look at the military mementos displayed there. He kept his gaze focused on the photograph he was inspecting as he finally spoke.

"Your husband was in the Gulf War?"

"Yes." Her voice was strained.

"From all the decorations, I'd say he was a real hero."

She relaxed visibly. Praise for her husband's bravery was a safe haven for her.

"Yes. Yes, he was . . . He is."

"Is this a picture of his unit?"

"Yes. They had just finished a mission. Before they went in, Richard had managed to get word to me that I wouldn't hear from him for a while. They had to leave all ID behind, even their wedding rings."

"What was the mission?"

"I don't know. It was secret and has never been declassified. It was also dangerous. Not all of them made it out alive."

At that he turned to her and nodded his understanding. Clearly, Mrs. Acer didn't think there was anything to worry about anymore. Lisbon had no more questions, and when Jane ambled toward the front door, she knew it was time to leave. She waited until they were in the car and the ignition was switched on.

"Did you get anything?"

"The photograph on the mantel? Of Acer and his unit?"

"Yeah?"

"Carl Woolsey was in it."

She took a moment to digest the information before she slid the gearshift into drive and swung the SUV out into street.

Carl Woolsey was Micah Landry's former boss and murderer.


	6. Chapter 6

6. THE WHOLE BIOLOGICAL CLOCK THING

Carl Woolsey had killed Micah Landry over money.

Micah's work occasionally required access to financial information. He had gone into work early on a Sunday morning to get a head start on a week of inventory and auditing when he found a discrepancy in the accounts. Woolsey had happened upon him at that moment. For months, the boss had been siphoning money from the accounts and going in on the weekends to double check the records and cover his tracks. In a moment of panic, he had picked up a lead paperweight and brought it down hard on Landry's skull. Landry had not died immediately and may have survived had he received medical attention, but the ride in Woolsey's trunk to the dumpsite and subsequent live burial had finished him.

In her initial interview, Tina had been able to tell Lisbon where her husband had gone the last time she saw him alive. They questioned his co-workers, including the boss, but no one knew anything about his coming in that day. There was no evidence he had been there, and they had been able to get a warrant to check the financials only because Tina had said he intended to start his week's work looking at them. A forensic accountant from the bureau had been called in to help, and it had taken him nearly two weeks to make his way through all of the technical camouflage Woolsey had managed to put in place.

The sticky point was that they had never found where all of the money went. Woolsey did not live above the means of his salary, and he had no secondary or secret bank accounts. When they arrested him, he had wept with what Jane could only describe as desperate relief. Being arrested for Micah Landry's murder had seemed to free him from something worse than a prison sentence.

It was reasonable to assume that the answer may again be money. Jane had a feeling Acer was involved, but without evidence of some kind, there was no way to know for certain. Lisbon was so frustrated, Jane was sure he could hear her teeth grinding.

Dinnertime came, and Jane convinced Lisbon to join the team with Will. They sat at a long table, Jane, Lisbon and Will's child seat on one side, Van Pelt, Rigsby and Cho on the other. Again, Van Pelt, somewhat enamored of the little boy, offered to feed him.

"Thanks, Grace", Lisbon said smiling.

"Welcome, Boss", Grace responded.

They looked over the menus and placed their orders. While they waited, they went over what little information they had on the case. Under cover of their food being delivered, Jane leaned over to Lisbon and whispered in her ear.

"When are you going to tell them?"

Lisbon turned toward him slightly and responded, "I'm working on it."

"I think they'll be more than a little suspicious when he rides back to Sacramento with us."

"I'll tell them when the time is right."

"His high school graduation party will be too late, Lisbon."

"I said I'm working on it!"

They both turned at the same time to look at the three agents across the table from them. Grace was smirking at them with one eyebrow arched, Rigsby had frozen mid-bite, and Cho just stared the way he looked at a suspect during interrogation.

Lisbon rolled her eyes and cast an exasperated look at Jane.

"We're taking Will back to Sacramento. Tina named me his guardian in the event of her death."

Rigsby snorted. Lisbon decided to overlook it, thinking it was probably a reasonable response. She could tell Van Pelt was dying to ask her more questions, and she didn't know how much longer she could take Cho's eyes boring into her. She ate quickly, agreed with the others on a late breakfast, and excused herself. Jane left right after saying something about checking in on Lisbon and Will before he went to bed.

They hadn't said anything about Lisbon and the baby—hadn't said hardly anything while Lisbon and Jane were still at the table, but as soon as Jane left, Grace shifted to the other side of the table so she could face her companions.

"Oh my gosh! Lisbon's a mom! I can't believe it. I mean, I guess I never thought about her having a baby. Well, she hasn't actually _had_ a baby . . . But she has a _baby_ . . . Oh my gosh!

Rigsby was dumbstruck. Grace's only hope for conversation on the subject was Cho. Sometimes she hated being the only woman in the backfield. She could rarely tell what Cho was thinking, and he forced you to play twenty questions for any drabble of information. He maintained his usual enigmatic expression during the infuriating game, but she could tell it amused him. That being the case, it surprised her when he spoke.

"I've always thought that Lisbon would make a great mom."

"Really?" Van Pelt asked.

"Yeah. She loves telling people what to do, scares everyone she comes into contact with, and she's always right. Those are the things that make my mom a great mom."

Van Pelt almost groaned. Any hope of a real conversation about Lisbon's newfound maternity was fading fast.

"I guess this was the easiest way for it to happen. She's so much the job, she doesn't have time to meet anyone and cultivate a relationship. And she would be so guarded about anything personal. It would take forever for her to get around to . . . you know."

"And then there's the whole biological clock thing."

She wanted to slap Cho.

"What do you think, Wayne?"

When Rigsby had first been assigned to the Special Crimes Unit, he thought his new boss was pretty hot. During his first foray into the field, they lost a suspect because the new agent ran the wrong direction. After that he had just wanted to stay out of her way. He usually didn't even think of her as female anymore except for the rare occasions she wore a skirt to work on court dates. He resented that he couldn't enjoy his meal because now he was being forced to think about not only the boss' love life but her woman parts as well.

Having a pretty good idea of the nature of the conversation she had left behind, Lisbon was making her way back to her room with the infant seat swinging at her side. Jane caught up and took it from her hand. She was grateful for the help. Though it didn't seem that she had done very much that day, she felt exhausted. When she reached her room, she unlocked the door and stepped inside, turning to reach for Will. Instead of handing him over, Jane stepped into the room after her and shut the door behind him. She started to protest, but he put one hand on her shoulder, turned her toward the bathroom and gave her a little push.

"I'll get Will situated. You shower and go to bed. It's been an eventful day, and you're tired."

It was too great a temptation to resist. She shrugged her shoulders and headed for the bathroom. When she emerged ready for bed, Jane was giving Will his bottle. Seeing that he seemed to have everything under control, she crawled into bed, pulled the cover over her and snuggled into her pillow. Her last conscious thought was how grateful she was to have Jane there. As he fed the baby, he watched Lisbon drift off, curious what had her smiling so contentedly in her sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

7. TOUCHY SITUATION

Late the next morning, Lisbon again awoke to find Jane sleeping on the couch in her room. Will was lying on the man's chest sucking his thumb with Jane's arms wrapped protectively around him. She slipped into the bathroom and showered and dressed quickly. When she returned, Will was starting to wake. She rubbed Jane's forearm and spoke softly.

"Hey."

He stirred under her touch and opened his eyes to look directly into hers.

"Hey back."

"Why don't you go to your room and shower and change? I'll get Will ready, and we'll meet the others for breakfast."

They stayed as they were for a moment, just looking at one another, Lisbon's hands reaching for the baby. Jane watched Lisbon a lot. Truth be told, it had become one of his favorite pastimes. But he rarely experienced the pleasure of just looking at her. He knew that she was beautiful, that her eyes were a perfect jade green and her smile was charmingly crooked. But to just look at her and see how beautiful she was startled him into immobility. She looked at him amused.

"So are you going to give me the baby, or do I need to wrestle you for him?"

He recovered himself and released the baby to her outstretched hands. The inn's couches left much to be desired in the comfort department, and Jane had to literally struggle to pull himself to a standing position. He would welcome the heat of the shower on his back. When he returned to the room, a ready Lisbon and baby Will greeted him. They were late meeting the others, but he was surprised and pleased that Lisbon had called ahead to order breakfast for both of them. Grace was waiting to do her part on baby duty.

They all had a few thoughts about the case. Discussion circled around their various theories. They took their time over breakfast. It was Sunday, and they had gone as far as they could go with the information and resources available. Lisbon told them to take it easy for the day but keep their phones with them in case she needed them. Grace, Rigsby and Cho decided they'd do some exploring in the surrounding countryside, maybe some hiking. Lisbon wanted to check some things at the office, so she finished eating and excused herself, taking Will with her and Jane soon following after her.

"Hey, guys. Have you noticed how much time Jane is spending with the boss?" Van Pelt leaned across the table in a conspiratorial way.

"The boss and Jane always spend a lot of time together." Rigsby barely got out around a mouthful of sausage.

"No, I mean how much they're . . . _together_."

Rigsby wasn't getting the nuance.

"So? They're friends. She's got a kid, Jane knows about kids. He's helping her out."

"Yeah, but they're not arguing at all. And Jane has practically been glued to her side since we got here."

"Oh, yeah. You're right. They're probably in love."

Van Pelt glared at him. The big oaf. How did he _get_ to be an agent anyway? He saw her irritation and tried to explain his thinking.

"Look, we're investigating the murder of her friend, who also happens to be the wife of the victim of a murder we investigated five months ago. It's a touchy situation. Jane's just doing what he can to help her out."

Cho spoke without taking his eyes off his plate or breaking his rhythm in eating.

"He spent the night in her room last night. And the night before."

When Van Pelt's eyes went wide and she looked at him with a smile that said, "See?", Rigsby's bite lodged in his throat. He wished he could get through one meal without choking on his food over the boss' private life. Tears sprang to his eyes, and he somehow managed a breathy sputter.

"This is the boss we're talking about. And Jane. _Jane_, for crying out loud!"

"I'm just saying." That was all they would get out of Cho.

"You don't think they . . . I mean, they don't look like they've . . . you know . . . "

"Ugh. Wayne!" Van Pelt wished she had never mentioned it. They finished their meal in silence then went to the police station to check in before they struck out for the day. Rigsby decided to keep his head decidedly down.

Lisbon had been quiet on the walk to the station. When they arrived, Jane put the baby seat on a table, and Lisbon picked Will up and held him. The little boy wrapped one dimpled hand around a lock of her hair and laid his held on her shoulder, sucking the thumb of his other hand. She patted his back absentmindedly, staring out the window until she came to a conclusion.

"I want to go back to Richard Acer's house."

"It's Sunday morning, Lisbon. Ruth Acer is probably in church. Besides, I don't think she can tell us much more of anything.

"No, but that photograph may be able to."

Ruth Acer looked like a skittish colt about to break and run. She was more than a little nervous about strangers coming into her home and asking questions about her husband while he was away. Lisbon asked a few cursory questions, confirmed Richard Acer's expected return and gave the woman a tacit assurance that this would be the last time they bothered her. Jane picked up the car seat, and he and Lisbon walked shoulder to shoulder to the car.

"Did you get it?"

Showing her the picture on his cell phone he replied, "It's not gallery material, but it'll do."


	8. Chapter 8

**Thanks again to all who have read and to all who have read and reviewed!**

8. DEAR TERESA

Lisbon opted to wait until Monday morning to have Van Pelt run IDs on the other faces in the photograph Jane had captured on his cell phone. She would let her team have some well-deserved time off and take the rest of the day herself. Will needed a nap, so she couldn't really go anywhere, but it would be nice to have a quiet day in. She didn't know how that would be possible when Jane followed her into her room and shed his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves, but she found she really didn't mind, especially when he promptly liberated Will from his seat and laid him on the bed and began blowing raspberries on his tummy.

"Don't get him all worked up. It's nearly time for his nap."

"He's been napping all day. Let the boy live a little."

"Shush. He has not been napping all day. You're just wanting a playmate."

Jane grinned at her and rolled to his back, lifting Will into the air above him. Lisbon watched as he moved the baby from side to side in figure eights and made airplane noises. Will gasped a few times and gurgled, then suddenly chuckled, the sound vibrating up from his tummy. Jane laughed back at him. Lisbon was brought up short by the sound. She didn't think she'd ever heard him laugh outright. Not a genuine laugh at least. She couldn't help but notice that it sounded a little rusty. He turned to her with a look of sheer delight.

"Has he done that before?"

"Not that I know of. I think that's his first belly laugh."

Jane looked so pleased with himself that Lisbon couldn't resist laughing at him as well. She turned away and busied herself with making a bottle, smiling as Jane and Will continued their airplane game behind her.

Will finished his bottle quickly and fell into a sound sleep. She laid him on the bed and surrounded him with pillows then turned to Jane as he slipped his jacket back on.

"Thanks for your help. I think I'm just going to sit out on the patio and read for a while. I'll see you when we meet for dinner."

She was telling the truth for the most part. What she really wanted was a few moments alone to read Tina's letter. She pulled it from her bag and picked up the book she had been trying to start for two weeks. Opening the French door, she stepped out and pulled it almost closed behind her, leaving a small opening so she could hear Will. She sunk down into one of the two roomy Adirondack chairs, placed the book on the table next to her and leaned back with her eyes closed for just a moment before she broke the envelope's seal. The letter was dated two months after Micah Landry's death.

_Dear Teresa,_

_If you're reading this, it can only mean one thing. There's so much I want to say to you that it's hard to know just where to start, but here goes._

_When Micah died, I felt like my own life had ended, like I could have laid down next to him and held him until I died too. I didn't know what to do._

_And then you showed up._

_You were like family and friend rolled into one, both of which I'd never really had except for Micah. You were so kind and sympathetic, and you knew better than to pity me. I could tell you had known hurt and grief, too. You knew I would need someone to talk to in the dark, late hours. You knew I would need someone to get me out of bed and put breakfast in front of me and brush my hair. You knew I would need someone to help me bury the love of my life._

_After you left, I felt all alone again, but then you called me when you got back to your office. I knew you had to have picked up the phone as soon as you walked in the door. Since then, not a day has gone by without talking with you, and I feel that—between you and Will—I have the strength to keep living._

_Mr. Neville has been helping me get my own affairs in order, and he said I needed to consider Will's care in the event of my death. I thought of you right away. Those first few nights, you told me to rest and you'd take care of Will. The second night you were at the house, when I heard you get up with him, I came downstairs to see if I could give you a hand. You were sitting in the rocking chair, giving him his bottle and singing some Spice Girls song to him. It was the first time I smiled after Micah._

_I know you hadn't planned on this—and I know how you like to plan—but I can't think of anyone I would trust to take care of my baby the way I trust you. You've been the best friend I've ever had—the big sister I would have wanted if I could have chosen. You're just what he'll need, and I know you'll look after him and keep him safe._

_And—please don't take this the wrong way—I think you need him, too. You've got no one and nothing except work. Your only friends are Jane and Cho and Wayne and Grace, and they're great, but you keep them all at arm's length because you don't want anyone to get too close. You're afraid. I don't know of just what, but you shouldn't be afraid to feel and love and care for people. You have a lot to give. Will can show you how. He's easy to love, and I want you to have love in your life. You deserve it. If nothing else, you'll have to leave work at a decent hour to pick him up from daycare._

_I'm trusting you to take care of what is dearest to me. I know you can do it._

_Love,_

_Tina_

Teresa laid her head over on the arm rest and wept. She wept for Tina's broken heart and for her violent death and for a little boy that would never know his parents. And she wept for the loss of her friend. Her heart hurt, and she turned on her side in the big chair and curled up and wept for everything she'd ever felt sad over. She wept for her mother's death and her father's self-destruction and her brothers' loss of both of them. She wept for Cho's being in a gang and being just a boy living so dangerously. She wept for Rigsby's growing up with a criminal for a father and for the secret hurt Grace carried that she couldn't share with anyone. And she wept for Jane—for his lost childhood and for his wife and little girl and for his brokenness.

Finally, when there were no more tears, she turned to lie on her back and carefully, reverently folded the precious letter, put it back in the envelope and held it over her heart.

The glass door was quietly opened, and Jane emerged with two steaming mugs of tea and a box of tissues. He placed a mug and the box on the table beside her.

"You know, we don't come across many places that offer Earl Grey in the in-room coffee service."

He stood, blowing on his tea and watching her. When she picked up the mug and brought it to her lips, he dropped into the other chair and looked out over the forested hills and quietly enjoyed his Earl Grey.


	9. Chapter 9

9. MANAGING THINGS

They all met bright and early Monday morning for breakfast then walked to the police station. Van Pelt downloaded the picture of Richard Acer's Rangers unit from Jane's phone and got to work identifying the men in it. Cho and Rigsby helped her make calls to get background information. As they walked to the SUV, Jane and Lisbon discussed the best way to approach Acer. Fifteen minutes later, they walked through the bank's front doors to meet the man.

"Hello, Mr. Acer, I'm Agent Lisbon, and this is Patrick Jane. We talked on the phone?"

"Yes, of course, Agent Lisbon. Please step into my office. May I offer you anything? Coffee? Water?"

"No thank you, I'm fine."

Acer's hospitality didn't extend to Jane any more than his attention did. He was a handsome man and was obviously well aware of the fact. Jane felt a surge of sympathy for Ruth Acer. The man was an ass. Acer watched Lisbon as she lowered herself into the chair he had offered her with a look Jane thought was best described as predatory. What was up with the men around here? Were there not enough women in Bishop?

"Mr. Acer, we understand that Micah Landry left a life insurance policy for which his wife, Tina Landry, was named beneficiary. The money was then put into a trust here at the bank. What can you tell us about that?"

"The policy had a payout amount of $2,000,000. Mrs. Landry placed it in a trust, with myself serving as administrator. The trust is part of a group investment plan—mostly stocks and bonds, safe investments with modest returns that will allow the trust to grow at a moderate but steady rate. It would earn enough interest to cover living expenses, and she would have been able to save toward her son's college without touching too much of the principle."

"Two million dollars is a lot of money. Do you have any idea what will happen with the trust now that Mrs. Landry is dead?"

Jane knew what Lisbon was playing at. He had listened as Allen Neville went over the details of Tina Landry's estate. As her only living relative, the trust would go to Will with Lisbon serving as administrator.

"It will go to her son, I'm assuming. Mrs. Landry set it up as a self-perpetuating trust that will remain in our charge, with myself serving as administrator."

Apparently, Acer didn't know about the will. Lisbon's voice raised a bit in pitch and took on an almost lyrical quality.

"Then you don't know? Mrs. Landry named a guardian for her son who will be serving as administrator of the trust. I'm fairly certain they mean to move everything to another institution."

Something hitched in Acer's eyes, his self-confidence seeming to fail him for just an instant. He brought his hands together and folded them tightly, resting them on the desk blotter in front of him.

"And may I ask who the guardian is? I assume you've spoken with them? I would hate for them to make a rash financial decision without proper advice."

Jane had to give him points for a quick recovery. Lisbon wasn't going to be so generous. Her voice cut across the desk at him, level and low.

"Actually, Mr. Acer, that would be me. Why would you assume the money would remain with you?"

Acer cleared his throat, obviously willing himself to be calm.

"Well, that was a logical assumption, Agent Lisbon. Perhaps you and I need to have a private conversation about the best way to manage things."

At that point, Acer finally acknowledged Jane's presence with a pointed look. Jane leaned further back in his chair, indicating he had no intention of going anywhere.

"That won't be necessary, Mr. Acer. I assure you I'm quite capable of managing things. Thank you for your time."

They rose in unison to walk out of the office, but just before they passed through the doorway, Jane turned back, right hand raised in a partial fist with his index finger crooked over the tip of his thumb. He spoke without meeting Acer's eyes in a distracted manner as if the question he wanted to pose wasn't quite clear in his mind. Lisbon knew better.

"Uh . . . one more thing, Richard. In how many secret missions did you and your unit engage during the Gulf War?"

Startled by the unexpected question and a bit offended by the use of his first name, Acer didn't take time to think.

"Eight."

"And when was the photograph on your mantel of your unit taken?"

"About a week before we came home. What's that—?"

"Great, thanks."

Jane put his hand on Lisbon's back and gently pushed her over the threshold and pulled the door closed behind them. She huffed at him in a whisper.

"You want to tell me what that—"

He silenced her with one finger raised to his lips. They could hear Acer talking inside his office, apparently on the phone. They couldn't make out what he was saying, but the panic in his voice was evident. Jane pointed toward the bank's front doors and mouthed a response to her.

"In the car."


	10. Chapter 10

10. CAREFUL OF THE BEAR

As Jane and Lisbon made their way back to the station, he told her what he had been mulling over since the first time he had seen the photograph on the Acer mantel. With the picture committed to his cell phone, he'd had ample time to check out the finer points.

"Ruth Acer said that they all didn't make it back alive from that mission—their last before returning home. We need to find out who didn't make it back, and if they had lost any other men. And I hope Grace has made some progress on IDs."

He paused, thinking to himself.

"And if she has . . . ?" Lisbon prompted him to continue.

"Acer and his unit went on eight classified missions. If they crossed enemy lines without ID, including their wedding rings, we can assume they traveled light and were gone for days, maybe weeks."

"Ok?"

"If the seven missions previous were successful and everyone made it back alive, what happened on this last mission?"

"Maybe things just happened. Or maybe they got careless. It doesn't necessarily mean anything."

"Then why were they smiling, and why were their packs, including an extra duffel still stuffed full?"

Now Lisbon was mulling. He left her to it, knowing it would only be a matter of seconds. Her brow furrowed as her thoughts came together.

"You're saying they came out with more than they went in with—or at least no less. That any deaths in the unit could be tied to what was in their packs?"

"Bingo. Now, what do we do about it?"

"Nothing."

He couldn't believe his ears. This wasn't like her. Lisbon worried each detail of each case to a nub. He wanted to remind her why they were there, but he knew that saying it would hurt her. He knew the thought that there may be no justice for Tina Landry was already causing her pain. He could see it in her eyes as she explained.

"Jane, their missions were classified. The military is like a private club, only more private. There's no way we can go to them and expect any answers. They just won't give. We work the case. We work Tina Landry's murder, and that's it."

Lisbon saw a dangerous thought pass through Jane's mind.

"Don't even think about it. This bear is too big to poke, and I won't be able to bring you a blueberry muffin in a military prison."

When he didn't reply, she pulled the SUV over, slid the gearshift into park and sat just looking at him. He looked at her, his eyes went wide and innocent and he raised his hands, palms out in a gesture of surrender.

"What? Classified missions. Big bear. No poking. I get it."

She closed her eyes and, pinching the bridge of her nose, whined at him, "Jane."

He reached across the console and pulled her hand down, and reflexively she opened her eyes and looked at him.

"I promise. I won't poke the bear or do anything that would remotely land me in a military prison."

"You _promise_?"

"Yes, Lisbon, I promise."

She looked at him a long moment. He saw something pass through her eyes. She was afraid for him. Afraid of where his recklessness might land him. Wanting her to remember how far he had come, how far _they_ had come, he squeezed the hand he was still holding. Satisfied, she pulled away and drove back out onto the road. He looked down at his hand for a moment flexing his fingers, remembering the feel of her hand in his.

"We've got a much smaller bear we can poke."

Lisbon groaned.

"A baby bear really. A really, really little baby bear."

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Back at the station, Grace was about to come out of her skin. Richard Acer had been part of a unit of soldiers that were from Bishop and the surrounding area. The men had joined the military ten years before the Gulf War. Two had remained on active duty, and the other ten had served four years then been reactivated and sent to Kuwait in 1990. When Lisbon entered the makeshift office, Van Pelt all but pounced on her boss.

"I found them."

"Found who?"

"All of them. All of the men in the photograph. Some of them have passed away, but all except one are all living in the area. The farthest is about an hour's drive from here."

"Show me everything."

Van Pelt laid the photograph on a desk in front of the senior agent and pointed to each face as she identified it.

"This is Captain Ben Williams. He was career military, killed in a roadside bombing in Iraq in 2004, one year before he was due to retire with twenty-five years of service. He was awarded the purple heart and three bronze stars, one of them posthumously.

"This is Captain Tom Haines. Also career military. Retired in 2005, died of lung cancer in 2007."

"Are any of them still living besides Acer and Woolsey?" Rigsby had moved, with Cho, to stand next to Grace as she explained the information she had gathered.

"These three are dead." She pointed to them each in turn. "Carl Bender was killed in a hunting accident in 1998, Frank Schuller drowned in a boating accident off the California coast in 2001, and Terry Wheats committed suicide in 1993."

"Suicide? Less than two years after they came home?" Lisbon asked.

"Yes. The others, besides Major Richard Acer and Lieutenant Carl Woolsey are former Sergeant Arthur Bowles, Corporal Sean McNamara and Private Aaron Cook. Cook is serving fifteen years on a DUI vehicular homicide charge. Bowles lives in Oasis, a little town just this side of the Nevada state line. Operates a dive there called the "Last Ditch". McNamara lives in Deep Springs, on the way to Oasis."

"Cho, you and Rigsby take McNamara. Jane, you're with me. Grace, would you mind—"

"No problem, Boss. I'll be glad to watch him. I'm still waiting on some more information anyway."

Lisbon started to express her thanks when she suddenly swiveled her head around to face Jane and tilted her head, her eyes light with realization.

"Woolsey. I forgot all about Carl Woolsey."

"Yep. Our very own baby bear."

"Van Pelt, call Hightower. Tell her what we've found since our last report. Ask her to send someone to question Carl Woolsey on his unit's activities in the Gulf War. And we need to know how closely they've all stayed in contact."

"On it, Boss."

Lisbon nodded and turned to leave, feeling more than seeing that Jane wasn't following her. She pivoted to look back at where he remained in place with one fist planted on his hip and the other raised to his mouth as he stood in thought.

"Jane!" She tried to hurry him along. He looked at her as if to beg her indulgence. When she relaxed, he turned to Van Pelt.

"Grace, you've accounted for everyone in the picture. Ruth Acer said some of the unit didn't make it back alive. Can you find out who those men were?"

"That's what I'm waiting on. The army's giving me the run around, but I've got a call in to a friend in their records division. Just waiting to hear from him."

"Excellent." Jane moved toward Lisbon and the door, saying over his shoulder, "When you get the information, call me."

"No, Van Pelt, when you get the information, call _me_."

Hearing the exasperation in her voice, he motioned vaguely toward Lisbon as he walked past her, still looking at Grace.

"Yes . . . what she said. Her—call her."

Lisbon rolled her eyes and followed him out, her chiding wafting back into the office through the closing door. Grace smiled at the baby and winked when he gurgled back at her.


	11. Chapter 11

**This is sort of a non-chapter. It's completely gratuitous and advances the story in absolutely no way. I just wanted to write a Cho-Rigsby-alone-in-the-car bit. Thanks for indulging me.**

11. CONVERSATION IN THE BACKFIELD

"Exactly what are we gonna be looking for with McNamara?"

They were only five minutes into the drive, and Rigsby had already opened the console to take out his first bag of snacks. Cho's eyes didn't leave the road.

"We want to find out about his unit's activities, why they were going into Iraq, what contact they've had since then."

"Oh." Rigsby nodded and crunched as he turned to look out his window. Cho looked straight ahead, seemingly concentrating on the road.

"I've been thinking."

"What? About having sex with your eighth grade math teacher again?" Rigsby snickered at their running joke.

"It was history. And no. About Lisbon."

"You've been thinking about Lisbon?" Rigsby choked on his chips, and his voice went up half an octave.

"Don't be an idiot. I've been thinking about what Van Pelt said."

"You mean about Lisbon and Jane . . ." Rigsby raised his fist, palm-side-down and pumped it once self-consciously in a half-hearted attempt at the crude gesture. He honestly did think that was better than saying the words out loud.

"No. And seriously—don't ever do that again. I mean about there being something starting between them. Something romantic."

"Ahhh-I really don't wanna talk about this. I don't even wanna _think_ about it."

"Oh, and you were all right with . . ." Cho raised his fist in an imitation of Rigsby's earlier gesture.

"I see what you mean, man. Don't ever do that again."

"Anyway, what would be so terrible? Apart from the potential mushroom cloud and fallout."

"Pretty much the mushroom cloud and fallout. Besides, it would just be weird. I mean, the boss and Jane . . . And what about regulations?"

"I don't know. He's not an agent. Just a consultant. I don't know what the rules say. They never apply to him anyway."

"Aangh, Lisbon would never go for it. Too much personal life mixed with work life."

"Maybe that would be good for her. They could keep it out of the office. Lisbon could anyway."

"Yeah, but not Jane. He just does what he wants. Goes after what he wants . . . I wish I didn't just say that."

"Why?"

"I just thought of all the times Jane's gone into her office without knocking, the blinds closed. I don't think I could take it."

"Because that would be the deciding factor. 'How will our relationship affect Rigsby?'"

"No! That's not . . . You've gotta admit, it would be distracting."

"Only at first. Then you'd get used to it."

"I don't think I'd ever get used to it. I'd always be wondering."

"You're a pervert."

"No, I just haven't read as much Jane Austen as you."

"Shut up."

A thought made Rigsby snicker.

"Hey, of the boss and Jane, which one is Elizabeth Bennett and which one would be Mr. Darcy?"

"How do you know about Elizabeth Bennett and Mr. Darcy?"

Rigsby was suddenly very defensive of his manhood.

"When Grace and I were together, she made me watch the A & E version of "Pride and Prejudice".

"That's over six hours long."

"She said it was definitive." Rigsby said with a shrug as he opened a second bag of snacks. "Wait—how do _you_ know how long it is?"

Cho reached over and snatched the bag away from him, dropped it in his own lap and started eating. Minutes passed.

"So, . . . you wanna take the lead on McNamara?"

"Yeah."

The ride continued in silence.


	12. Chapter 12

12. LET'S KEEP THIS PROFESSIONAL

Ordinarily, Jane's habit of punching his way through every radio station while in the car would have made Lisbon's head want to explode. But the fact that they finally had something substantial to do on the case plus his recent good behavior induced her to let it slide. That plus the fact that the car radio could only pick up five stations as they drove deeper into nowhere. The first two blared tinny country music. The next played rap, then there was raucous jazz—not the soft kind—and when the last station emitted a kind of Bolly-techno sound, Jane turned it back to the jazz and lowered the volume. Lisbon realized he meant for it to be background music so they could talk. Great.

Before he could start, however, her cell gave off a shrill set of tones. She glanced at the caller ID and groaned. She really would have preferred conversation with the man beside her. He looked at her questioningly, and when she showed him the screen, he grimaced at her in sympathy and turned the radio volume down further.

"Lisbon." She said curtly, not wanting to give anything away.

"Agent Lisbon, can you tell me why I've had three calls from the United States Army as well as the Adjutant General in the last hour, telling me that you are interfering with an ongoing military investigation and attempting to access classified information by breaching several security protocols? If I didn't know better, I'd think this was a Jane situation."

"No, ma'am, that is _not_ what this is. Jane hasn't even come in contact with anyone from the military." She gave him a hard look, and he shook his head and crossed his heart. "We're handling the investigation in a thorough and professional manner, like we would any other case. In the process of pursuing various leads, we're looking at members of a Rangers' unit that was active during the Gulf War, and we're just trying to cover all bases."

Jane grimaced at her again, but this time it was in annoyance. Honestly? The woman sounded like she was reading out of the CBI manual. She gave him a look and a one-shoulder shrug as if to ask him, "Well, what _should_ I say?" before she turned her attention back to the call. She didn't notice him taking out his own phone and punching in a number.

"Well, Agent Lisbon, I think you should be able to investigate Tina Landry's death without bringing the U.S. military down on our heads. I'm aware that you have a personal interest in this case, and I hope this isn't a matter of you . . . just a minute . . . Lisbon, is Jane with you?"

"Yes, ma'am, he is, but I assure you—"

The line went dead. Patrick's eyes brightened as he spoke into his phone.

"Yes, hello, Madeleine. I just want to assure you that we're doing everything necessary to solve this case . . . No, no, I've been with Lisbon the whole time . . . No, just needed some background information for the case. That's why we were hoping someone could question Carl Woolsey. Apparently, there's some sort of mix-up with the army—I don't know what that's all about, but I'm sure you'll be able to smooth things over with very little effort. Just work your magic the way you do . . . Madeleine? I'm sorry, we're heading into some pretty isolated countryside . . . I may lose you."

He rolled down his window and held his phone outside the moving vehicle as he continued to yell toward it.

"I . . . sorry . . . breaking up!" Snapping the phone shut, he rolled the window up and turned to face her as he slid his cell back into his pocket. She was looking straight ahead, mouth gaping in disbelief, still holding her open phone. She finally managed to tear her eyes away from the road.

"Jane! What the hell—?"

"Oh, come on. You didn't want to listen to her kvetch at you on and on about something you're going to keep at anyway, did you? . . . Be honest." He hurriedly added when he saw her forming a protest.

She rolled it around mentally for a few seconds, then snapped her phone shut and dropped it into a cup holder on the console. Her voice was much lower—more subdued—when she spoke again.

"She's got reason to be concerned, you know. I feel like we're just sort of blundering through this. I'm not sure what we even hope to find out from Bowles."

He liked keeping Lisbon slightly off balance—liked having her in his personal loop just enough to let her be part of what he was doing but not so much that she wasn't surprised by the outcome. He liked a big finish. Some things he just couldn't change. She had implied to him once in a moment when they were both angry that she didn't want to work with him, that she had no respect for his genius. She may have forgotten those words spoken over two years ago, but he hadn't, and sometimes they still stung a bit. Yes, he enjoyed Lisbon off balance, but only when the circumstances were of his making. To hear her unsure, questioning herself and her instincts and abilities always produced an uncomfortable weight in his chest.

"Look, we know Acer has something to do with this. We know he was in the Gulf War with Woolsey. It can't be coincidence."

"Why? Because according to you, there's no such thing?"

She still sounded disheartened. He thought for a moment.

"No. Because your instincts tell you it's not. You know there's something there; we just have to figure out what it is. It's a puzzle, and all of the pieces aren't in the box. Maybe Bowles is a part of the puzzle, maybe he's not. We've driven a lot further out of our way on less. We can't give up. _You_ can't give up. You have to push and question and . . . _blunder_ until you're sure you've covered everything, until you get whoever did this."

She was quiet for a while, seeming to absorb what he'd said. Eventually, the right side of her mouth lifted in a lazy quirk.

"Is that the end of the pep talk?"

"You should know better than anyone, Lisbon, that I don't do 'pep'."

She was surprised that he was willing to leave it at that when he reclined in his seat and closed his eyes. He wanted to give her some space, and there was too much seriousness hanging in the air. He decided not to talk unless she wanted to.

Jane was very comfortable being quiet with her. He had heard of "companionable silences" but had never experienced it firsthand with anyone until Lisbon. He had always thought he preferred noise and conversation.

The first time was sometime during the first year they worked together. The rest of the team had gone home for the evening, and, bored with being alone, he had wandered into her office and without invitation lain down on her couch. This in itself was not unusual, but his being silent was. He had thought to engage her in conversation, but noticing how engrossed she was in her forms and computer screen, he decided instead to let her work. Her quiet activity—the occasional turning of a page, the scratching of her pen and the clicking as she typed—were very soothing. Working without interruption relaxed her. The space around her was saturated with calm. It also allowed him to covertly watch her. Concentrating on her work, she didn't realize when she bit her lip, smiled to herself, grimaced at her cold coffee or stroked the cross that always lay against her throat. She also didn't notice his smiling "in his sleep" over such occurrences.

Over the next few weeks, he had experimented with repeat performances in the office and, eventually, in the car. Then, one evening before he could decide whether to trade his couch for hers, he had been quietly delighted to hear her walk out into the bullpen and take a seat at his unused desk near his much used couch to continue her work into the night.

He felt her starting to relax, and when the jazz station went into some mellow piano music, he didn't fight the light doze that overtook him.

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They arrived in Oasis a little less than an hour later. They drove past the Last Ditch to get a feel for the place. It looked like a front for enough illegal activity to keep vice and drug units busy full-time on its own. Lisbon parked across the street, hauled herself out of the SUV and started to head toward the bar as Jane pulled off his jacket and threw it in the back seat.

"You're not going in like that, are you?"

Unsure of what he was getting at, she let the question hang in the air.

"You look like a cop." He rolled up his sleeves, squinting at her against the bright sun.

"I am a cop."

"Well, yes, you are, but if you go in there as 'Agent-Lisbon-CBI-we-need-to-ask-you-some-questions', I can guarantee you won't get any takers."

When she rolled her eyes and walked back toward him, he knew she was seriously considering what he was saying. He motioned toward a small shop with a placard in the window denoting the place as "Cecily's", but the clothing in the window belied the demure name.

"I'm sure we can find whatever we need in this lovely establishment."

He pushed the door open and reached back for her, grasping her wrist and pulling her forward then moving his hand to her back and sweeping her through the opening. Lisbon took two steps into the shop, froze for an instant then started to back out.

"Jane, I think we need to find another shop."

"This is the only one that I saw that carries women's clothes, so unless you're hoping to find something to wear in the taxidermy place down the street, you'd better start shopping."

Twenty minutes later, they stepped out into the street, on their way to meet Arthur Bowles. They'd found out from the sales clerks at Cecily's that Bowles had lived in the area all of his life and that he was some kind of war hero. His wife had left him a few years ago, and he had won "The Ditch"—as the locals called it—in a poker game, playing owner and bartender and—due to his size and violent proclivities—bouncer. He was barely keeping his head above water financially, in spite of the many "side businesses" in which he engaged. It never ceased to amaze Jane what information there was to be had in a small town if you just asked the right people.

"Try to relax, woman. I know this isn't the first time you've worn a skirt. And are you going to carry your gun and badge into the bar like that?"

"This is the first time I've worn _part_ of a skirt—well, since I was seventeen, anyway. And just where would you suggest I carry my gun?"

All of this was hissed at him through clenched teeth. She had stopped on the sidewalk and rounded on him, angry that he'd managed to talk her into the highly inappropriate outfit she was wearing. _Why_ did she let him get her into this crap?

She blushed and looked away as he let his eyes roam over her. She was wearing a snake-skin print skirt in shades of deep silver and dark gray that stretched tight to fit her, the hem cutting across her mid-thigh. The top was thick, stretchy black lace with wide straps that rested just at the curve of her shoulder and was lined with a narrow solid black strapless bra insert. Her gun and badge weren't the only things she had to remove to accommodate the outfit. She didn't mind the shoes so much. She'd wanted black gladiator sandals for a while but hadn't bought them because she couldn't imagine when she would ever wear them. She just hoped she didn't have to chase anybody. Or sit down.

Jane's silent consideration of her dilemma was starting to make her feel very uncomfortable. She hadn't meant for him to put that much thought and . . . perusal into it.

She looked at him, half afraid of just where his eyes might be and was surprised to see him looking at her face. No . . . not her face . . . her neck. He was looking at her neck.

Lisbon had swept her hair up into a high ponytail, relaxing it at her crown to give it some height. He had never seen her wear her hair this way and knew it was because it was too distinctly feminine for her to indulge in it at work. It wasn't nearly as serviceable as the low bun or ponytail in which she usually contained her curls. Now, without the serious-cop/old-maid-librarian hair and the standing collar of her usual oxford shirt, he could see the full graceful sweep of her neck. He'd recognized the slender waist beneath her protective and professional layers, and had caught a glimpse of the toned, shapely legs once when he'd seen her in that oversized men's sports jersey. But her neck . . .

She turned in an embarrassed huff and marched to the SUV. Opening the door, she leaned in to slide her weapon and badge under the front passenger seat and tossed her discarded clothes into the back. When she extended one leg behind her to balance herself, he let his eyes slide down the length of her body slowly and back up again.

"Lisbon, I've always known you're attractive. Lovely even. But you are actually quite hot."

She snapped upright and wheeled to face him, standing stiff.

"Jane—"

"Seriously. You are fiercely and undeniably hot."

Deep pink seemed to soak into her cheeks from beneath her skin. She pulled self-consciously at the hem of her skirt and bit her bottom lip at the same time. Why had he never thought of doing something like this before? She wasn't just hot. She was downright _winsome_—a blending of innocent and seductive. He had to take a deep breath to steady himself. Lisbon didn't seem to be as affected.

"Well, Bowles isn't going to come out and talk to us, so I guess we'd better go in."

He nodded and stepped to her side as she looked both ways before crossing the street. A few minutes later, when the patrons of The Ditch got a look at her, he thought this might have been one of the worst ideas he'd ever had.


	13. Chapter 13

13. WHAT A DAY BRINGS

Artie Bowles was having a bad day. He opened the bar at eleven every morning after he spent a few hours cleaning up the place from the night before. He'd make a few cursory swipes at the restroom surfaces and restock the vending machines, pick up the empties from the floor and tables, wipe down the bar and throw out the drunk or two that always ended up sleeping it off in a corner—after he checked their wallets for any cash they might, by some miracle, still have on them after a night's heavy drinking. Just enough to keep the health department off his back.

He'd started the day in a blacker mood than usual, waking up with a hangover of his own. He could never catch a break. Everything had started going to hell five years ago. No, it had started before that. He had left the army with no regrets—no remorse anyway—thinking his life was just going to take off from there. But something had gone wrong, and he hadn't even seen it coming. The drinking had started not long after he'd gotten home, and when the whiskey wasn't doing the trick anymore, he'd moved on to stronger poisons. Long ago, he had drunk and snorted away any profit he might have purchased in the war.

That's when the rage had engulfed him. His wife left him, afraid to even be in the same room with him anymore. There was a time when he wouldn't have let that happen, when he wouldn't have let her go. But when the paperwork had come—in the mail, no less—from Reno, he'd just signed and dropped the documents back in the box, like he was taking out a magazine subscription. He should have been heartbroken, but he was just relieved that he didn't have to think about how to fix one more thing he'd broken. He'd thought his luck had changed when he won The Ditch, but it turned out to be what he thought was the bottom of the pit his life had become. Then five years ago, the bottom dropped out.

He hated this dump. And now he was chained to it for the rest of his life. He'd had a dangerous thought that morning. For the first time in almost twenty years, he had wished he could come clean.

The bar had filled early today. The drunks and the druggies and even the hookers that paid him rent for the rooms upstairs were restless. It was only mid-afternoon, and he'd already broken up three fights and had to toss a couple of customers complaining about the cost and quality of what he dealt out of the back. He'd ignored the calls to his cell. There were only a handful of people who called him on his personal phone anymore, and that was one part of his life he didn't feel like dealing with today.

There was a stir in the place. It was subtle, but he instinctively felt the shift in the atmosphere. When he turned to the door, he understood why.

Fresh meat.

She wasn't any too young. But she'd give any other female in town more than a run for their money. It didn't matter, though. He could tell by the body language of the man with her that she wasn't available. They took a seat in a dark corner and started whispering, the man using his body to shield her from the rest of the room. Bowles caught a waitress's eye and jerked his head toward their table. She moved across the room to take their order.

"Jane, you need to try and relax."

The irony of that coming from her did not escape him. When they walked through the front door, he'd seen her hand go to her side where her badge would have usually been on display. He knew she felt exposed, even more so than her clothes had made her feel. But she'd calmed herself and walked through the room of leering men to a table in the back. Now she was just trying to keep him from doing something stupid.

He took a deep breath and pulled his thoughts to the matter at hand. He recognized the bartender immediately. The years had not been kind. His hair was longer, and he was thinner, but the powerful build and watchful eyes couldn't be mistaken for anyone else.

"That's Bowles at the bar."

"I see him."

They both saw the waitress approach.

"I wonder what the chances are of getting tea."

She laughed softly, and he felt the tension leave his body. Almost.

They ordered sandwiches and a beer, but they both knew they wouldn't be eating. Not even Rigsby would have felt comfortable consuming anything in this pit. A man at a table about fifteen feet away stood and walked toward them, hard and determined. Jane straightened his back and looked him directly in the eye as he splayed his hand on Lisbon's thigh and squeezed. The pig took the hint and veered off. The meaning in the gesture wasn't lost on anyone else who had been watching either.

Lisbon took a pull on her beer to cover her snicker. At the sound, Jane swiveled his head around to look at her in surprise.

"You find this amusing, Lisbon?"

Keeping her eyes on her beer bottle as she lowered it to the table, she smiled as she spoke in a high-pitched imitation of something like Marilyn Monroe.

"Ooo, you're so _possessive_, Mr. Jane."

"You're hysterical."

"Yeah, I thought it was pretty funny."

"No, I mean I think the tension is making you hysterical. Don't make me slap you."

"Ooo, and so _forceful_, too!"

He brought his thumb and index finger together and pinched her on the soft flesh on the inside of her thigh. When she squeaked, the guy at the table next to them looked at Jane and smirked with a wink. Jane was partially right. The tension may have been playing with her head. She cleared her throat.

"Well, what's the plan?"

"I'm thinking."

"I thought you did that _before_ you made me change clothes."

"At that point I was only thinking about getting us into the bar without drawing too much attention."

"So far, so good."

"There's no need for snark, Lisbon."

"Well, we've got to do something. Any ideas at all? I mean besides just sitting here drinking your beer and feeling me up?"

"I'm not drinking my beer."

"Oh, well, that's all right then. Think you could at least hold your hand still?"

He realized his fingertips had been drawing little circles on the inside of her thigh and jerked his hand away as if her skin had burned him. She gasped when his hand lowered onto her knee.

"Don't worry. I just don't want my claim to appear shaky."

"McNamara just walked in."

He realized the shift in her intensity. Agent Lisbon was back. She lowered her eyes to the table and reached down to take his hand in her own, raising it back up to her thigh. He couldn't take his eyes off of her when he felt her thumb brushing back and forth against his knuckles. When he saw her looking covertly toward the bar through her lashes, he realized what she was doing.

"McNamara's upset about something . . . He wants to talk . . . Bowles is trying to blow him off—wait . . . Bowles just called a waitress over to take the bar. They're heading out the back door.

As Bowles moved toward the rear exit, his vision swept the bar. Just the usual bunch of drunks and the lovebirds at the corner table. He opened the door and pushed McNamara through in front of him. Lisbon and Jane waited a few seconds then each took a pull at their beer and rose to follow. The drunk at the next table smirked at him again. Jane had never wanted to punch anybody so badly in his life.

Oasis was built in the late 1800's. The buildings on the main street all sat pushed together, sharing exterior walls. Alleys ran parallel to the street but none cut along the sides from the back to the front. Like other buildings on the row, the Ditch had been expanded out the back, the rear addition more narrow than the original front to accommodate a partial alley, high and narrow, for deliveries and trash pick-up. A single rear door with a small dirty window opened to the back.

Peering through the window, Jane couldn't see Bowles or McNamara. Cautiously, they inched their way out the door, Lisbon being careful to catch it and pull it closed quietly. The two men had gone around the corner and stood in the rear alley caught up in a quiet but heated argument.

Lisbon and Jane moved toward the voices, hardly daring even to breathe. Jane took in the surroundings, deducing by Lisbon's ginger steps that she was doing the same. The broken pavement was littered with beer bottles, condom wrappers and plastic bags. He counted two empty syringes and what looked like a pair of discarded underwear. He had guessed what went on upstairs. Apparently, these were the cheap seats. He didn't even want to guess at what might be in the dumpsters.

McNamara was scared. Bowles was pissed. McNamara was always scared. Even in the Gulf, even ten years before that when they'd started out in the same unit. They'd grown up in the same town but didn't run in the same circles. Serving in the military together, Bowles had realized why. McNamara was always a bundle of nerves. And he was weak—always wanting to go along, never able to take the lead, never willing to do the dirty work, counting on everybody else to do what was necessary to keep from getting caught. He hated McNamara more now than he ever had.

"I'm telling you, the cops are all over this, Artie!"

"Go figure."

"You've got to do something!"

"I did do something. Now it's somebody else's turn."

"They're asking questions about the unit."

Jane heard Bowles sigh as he deliberated.

"What kind of questions?"

"Just questions. Nothing specific, I guess. Acer just said one of the cops asked about it. Something about a picture he saw at Acer's house."

Bowles sighed again. McNamara was scared. Acer was just plain stupid.

"What's the major want me to do about it?"

"I don't know. He probably told you what to do in one of his phone messages."

There were sounds of sudden movement, shuffling and a thump. Someone was choking.

"Don't get smart with me, you little prick. Lately you've been a real pain in my ass, and I've about had enough."

More sounds of shuffling and a thud. McNamara was coughing and taking deep gasps, trying to get his lungs to re-inflate.

"Pull yourself together, Mac. Run back home and hide under your bed. I'll talk to Acer and take care of things. Stay away from the cops. And if they do turn your rock over, make sure you keep your mouth shut."

Bowles left McNamara to recover himself and turned on his heel to head back into the bar, walking slowly as he thought. Lisbon and Jane practically ran back to the door to let themselves in. It was locked. Lisbon turned toward the approaching footsteps and reached instinctively for her weapon, groaning when she realized it was hidden away back in the SUV. She turned to Jane. He was frozen in place. Frantically, her eyes swept the alley. As Bowles rounded the corner and came into view, she grabbed Jane's shirt front with both hands and jerked him against her as she stepped back against the wall between the dumpster and the door.

"If you ever say anything about this, I will make you _want_ to die."

She reached one hand up behind his neck and pulled his head down and kissed him. He froze against her, his arms rigid at his side. She opened her lips against his and hissed in angry frustration.

"Kiss me, dammit."

Something shot through him, seemingly from her lips, down his throat, all the way into his legs. One hand went to her waist, and the other cupped the back of her neck, pulling her in to deepen the kiss even as he stepped into her, pushing her farther into the wall. Her hand that had still been grasping his shirt relaxed against him and moved around his waist and angled up against his back, pulling him closer to her.

Bowles walked past them growling deep in his throat, "Get a room." He pulled his keys out and unlocked the door.

Jane's head was so fogged, he couldn't form a coherent thought. That is undoubtedly why when Lisbon turned her head, he started kissing his way down her neck, thinking she was just offering him easier access.

"The door! Get the door!"

She brought both hands to his chest and heaved him off of her then lunged for the door, catching it just before it latched shut again. Checking to make sure it was clear, she ducked inside, reaching back to grab Jane's hand and pulling him through behind her. Luckily, they'd already taken care of the check and walked straight through and out the front door.

Bowles retrieved his cell phone from the shelf under the bar where he'd pitched it earlier in an effort to ignore Acer's repeated calls. He listened to the voicemail. It didn't tell him anything more than what Mac had said, except for a subtle suggestion as to what action needed to be taken. Then he opened the picture text. Two people, a man and a woman, getting into an SUV in the bank parking lot. He frowned at the screen. The lovebirds.

His head jerked toward the window just in time to see them drive away. He knew they'd head back to Bishop. It was a long, deserted road. He tossed instructions and a threat at the waitress who doubled as a bartender and strode out to his truck. Shrugging his shoulders into his jacket he thought darkly, _"What did two more matter?"_

In the SUV, Lisbon was leaving Oasis behind as fast as she could, willing her breathing to calm before she started making calls. She could feel Jane's eyes on her.

"Uh . . . "

"Not. One. Word."


	14. Chapter 14

14. THE DAY'S NOT OVER

Cho was trying his best to be patient. He was already irritated that they'd had no luck locating McNamara, and then Rigsby had insisted they stop for something to eat. Reminding himself that the guy had missed lunch and the snack supply in the SUV was low, he sucked it up and tried not to interfere with Rigsby's food selection process.

There were no fast food chains in the area—not enough population to support them. They'd stopped at a little cantina just outside of Deep Springs, and Rigsby was reading every word of the menu. As far as Cho could remember, he'd never known Rigsby to be in any way particular about what he put in his stomach. He didn't know why he had to start now. Cho developed a rhythm of clearing his throat and checking his watch.

"That's not going to make me go any faster." Rigsby said in a sing-song voice.

Cho pressed his lips into a firm line. The waitress stepped to the table and smiled. Rigsby ordered his entree along with every side and condiment on the menu. Cho ordered the number 7, and when he asked for everything packaged to-go, Rigsby groaned at him.

"We need to call Lisbon and get back."

"You really want to take this to-go? In the car?"

Cho eyed him with dry disapproval then rolled his eyes in exasperation, remembering the last time they had eaten Mexican food in the SUV. They were on stake-out. Cho's hair had smelled like taco meat for three days. He sat at the table and sulked. It was enough Rigsby's appetite was holding him hostage. He felt no obligation to provide dinner conversation.

Lisbon regained her composure within minutes of leaving Oasis and phoned Van Pelt. Jane knew the close call had unnerved her. He was relieved that she seemed to see his behavior in the alley as a breach in professionalism and nothing else. He had to admit that for his masculinity's sake, he was also a little insulted.

"Hey, Boss. I was able to find out a little more about the rest of the unit. Aaron Cook is serving his DUI homicide sentence at CSP in Sacramento—the same place as Carl Woolsey. Hightower sent Agent Carsky to interview Woolsey, so I asked if he could talk to Cook. Cook's been going to A.A. meet—"

Lisbon dropped her phone and let it clatter to the floor when she suddenly lost control of the vehicle and it veered sharply off the road and slammed into an outcropping of rock. Her shoulder strained against the shoulder harness just before the airbag deployed. She heard Jane sputtering against his own airbag, and as the powdery fog settled, she looked over to see that he was relatively unharmed. Somewhere in her head, it registered that she may have heard a shot just before the tire blew. At that instant, a truck sped past them, throwing sand and gravel as it turned sharply and came to a halt directly in front of the SUV.

"Lisbon?" She didn't miss the note of warning and apprehension in Jane's voice as they both recognized the driver that emerged from the truck, his rifle already pointing at them as he strode directly toward them.

"Get out." Bowles' voice was low and menacing. Both Lisbon and Jane sat frozen in place, their minds trying to process what was happening and what they could do about it. Lisbon was painfully aware of her gun still resting under Jane's seat. Without hesitation, Bowles redirected his aim and blew out the window just behind Lisbon's head. Bringing the gun back sharply to point directly at her, he reiterated his command.

"Get out now."

Lisbon scrambled to release her seat belt hearing Jane doing the same. She also heard the faint beeping of his cell phone. She might actually compliment him on his quick thinking later. If they were still alive. She opened her mouth to speak, maybe try and bring some calm to the situation before things got any more out of hand. Realizing her intention and not wanting anyone to get the wrong idea about what was inevitable, Bowles removed one hand from the rifle and slapped her hard before she could say anything then pushed the gun barrel into her chest.

"Don't say a word. Just walk." He jerked his chin up, motioning at some destination beyond them. She and Jane turned to walk, hands raised in the air, toward a small shed that sat about two hundred yards off the road, half hidden in a clump of rocks and scrub.

Remembering Lisbon's shoes were not the best for walking the uneven terrain, Jane slowed his pace so she could catch up to him.

"Who did you call?" She whispered tightly.

"Cho. You hurt?"

"No. Just don't want to die in these clothes."

"Shut up." Bowles nudged her from behind with the gun barrel so hard he nearly knocked her down. They didn't speak again.

Once inside the shed, Bowles ordered them to a halt in the middle of the long, low one-room building. It was some kind of storage shed for road crews. Boxes of tools and a rough table and chairs were pushed up against one wall. There were two doors, one at the front through which they had entered and one directly across from it on the rear wall. The two windows that faced each other on the side walls were locked, and the air inside was stale and stifling.

They needed time. He didn't know where Cho was—didn't even know if he had picked up his call. Once Jane pushed two on his speed dial, he had dropped the phone into his trouser pocket. He knew the lack of conversation didn't give anyone listening much to go on. Still, Bowles' intention was obvious as was his ability to carry it out, and they needed to stall. For some reason, Bowles seemed particularly hostile toward Lisbon, so—not wanting her subjected to anymore of his anger—Jane figured he was up.

"So, you killed Tina Landry." It wasn't a question, so Bowles felt no need to answer.

"I see that's a sniper rifle you're holding. Just like the real soldiers use. Why'd you kill her? She couldn't have known about what you did." Bowles flinched. It wasn't much—just a slight twitch of his eye.

"Did you mean to leave the baby alive, or did you just run out of time?" Ah, that struck a nerve.

"I don't kill children."

"Good to know you draw the line somewhere. What was it in Kuwait? Gold? Treason? Drugs?" Another twitch.

"Ah, drugs."

Lisbon was trying to keep calm, but she could feel herself starting to shake. She was worried about Jane. She knew he was trying to buy time, but he was pushing too hard. Bowles' grip on the gun had tightened, and he had subconsciously shifted it slightly to point directly at Jane's chest.

"You know, we're not the only cops working this case. It's not like we can just disappear and no one will have the slightest idea what's happened."

Bowles' knuckles were white now with clenching the weapon. But Lisbon could tell he was thinking things through. Jane watched as the thoughts skittered across his face.

Bowles had followed them blindly, not stopping to think about the consequences or bothering to come up with another plan. He cursed himself. He had become so accustomed to following Acer's orders—the man with the rank and the money and the suit, but no brains. He needed to think. If this guy would just shut up so he could think. He pointed the rifle at Lisbon, and saw that Jane got the message loud and clear.

"You're not a cop. I don't know what you are, but _she's_ the cop."

Bowles was sweating. It collected at his hairline and ran down his forehead into his eyes. The salt stung. It irritated him. He was trying to think—trying to make his head clear. The hangover, the hopelessness, the anger, the talking, the cop . . . and the sweat. It was all too much. How had everything gotten so screwed up? When had murder become his first instinct? He was trying to fight his way through the muddle of pain and questions and uncertainty. He had always been certain, always been sure. His head started to roll in small, tight movements back and forth as if he were telling something "no". Something was going to happen. Lisbon just couldn't tell what. Bowles was standing at the brink. Maybe he just needed the slightest tap to push him over.

"This doesn't have to end badly for everyone, Arthur. We can talk, make a deal."

"What kind of deal, lady? I've killed in cold blood. That woman wasn't the first . . . She was just the first _woman_."

His concentration slipped as he was pulled back to some dark thing in his memory, mumbling about money and blood. Jane's throat tightened with fear when he realized that Bowles was coming unhinged right before their eyes. He had hoped Lisbon could reason with him and talk him into some sort of agreement, trading a reduced sentence for information. Bowles snapped back to the present.

"After you're through looking at me for that, you'll hand me over to the army. Everybody's gonna want a piece of me. How'm I gonna make a deal, then? Easier for me to kill you and run."

In an instant, Jane saw two things: Bowles' eyes filled with a cold resolve, and the deadly calm of the sniper reasserted itself. Jane turned and lunged at Lisbon, momentarily jarred in their descent to the ground by an unregistered impact. At the same instant, Rigsby crashed through the front door with a loud, angry warning. Jane's weight forced Lisbon down, and Cho came through the rear door facing the gunman. As Jane and Lisbon cleared his line of fire, without warning, he pulled the trigger, sending a bullet into Bowles' forehead. The impact pushed Bowles' head back, pulling his arms upward giving Cho a clear shot to put two more bullets in his chest. Bowles was dead before his body hit the ground with a hard thud that sent a shudder through the metal building.

Lisbon stared into Bowles' lifeless eyes, blinking away her fear and shock, slowly becoming aware of the difficulty she was having with her breathing. She turned her head to face the ceiling and instead came eye to eye with Jane. He was still lying as they had fallen, his weight fully on top of her, his head pulled back, his eyes fixed on hers.

"Jane, get off. Can't breathe."

"Don't think I can move." He groaned, and his head fell forward pressing his forehead to her nose.

"Jane, get—" In horror, she felt a warm, thick wetness bloom against her shoulder.

"Jane? Jane! Cho! Ambulance! Rigsby, help me!" As she shouted at the two agents, she wrapped her arms tightly around the injured man and rolled them both gently to their sides. Rigsby held on to Jane's upper body as Lisbon managed to turn herself and slide under him, positioning him between her legs and leaning him back against her chest to keep his head elevated, all the while ordering him to stay awake.

"Not like I can help it with all this noise."

She leaned her face into his hair at the back of his head and sighed with relief. Rigsby stripped his shirt off and pushed on the wound in Jane's shoulder to try and staunch the blood flow. Jane clenched his teeth and drew in a sharp, pained gasp.

"What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking what a shame it would be to ruin that lovely blouse with a bullet hole."

"You're an idiot." Her voice broke, and she hid her face in his hair again. His good arm circled her leg, his hand pulling up on the back of her knee. He raised it until her foot flattened on the floor, bracing her leg in a bent, upright position and forming an arm rest for himself.

"There's an ambulance in Deep Springs—be here in about ten minutes." Cho snapped his phone shut and opened the windows to get some air moving. Afternoon was passing into evening, and the temperature was dropping. He found a blanket folded on a shelf above the table. He spread it to cover Jane, careful to tuck it around Lisbon's legs as well. He made a mental note to ask her about that skirt later.

Jane shifted against Lisbon, trying to hoist himself. He groaned in pain, and she wrapped her arms around his waist as far as she could and lifted him up higher against her chest. He draped his good arm over her leg to hold himself in place, loosely encircling her raised knee and absentmindedly brushing his hand back and forth against her shin. She was glad she had shaved that morning and shook her head, thinking she must be in shock to think about something so ridiculous.

For the next few minutes, she talked to Jane to keep him awake. Cho knelt on one knee next to her with his hand resting lightly on her blanket-covered leg. Rigsby called a near frenzied Van Pelt who promptly called the ambulance service to find where they would take Jane so she could beat it out of the police station and meet them there. One of the officers offered to drive her and she gratefully accepted as she packed Will's things. Securing him in the backseat of the patrol car, she thought fleetingly about calling Hightower but decided that could wait.

Jane was nearly unconscious when the ambulance arrived. When they tried to move him, his arm tightened around Lisbon's leg. She rubbed his elbow, whispering comfort into his ear until he relaxed his hold and they could lift him onto the stretcher. When the paramedics told her apologetically that there wouldn't be room for an extra passenger in the ambulance, Cho and Rigsby bundled her into their waiting SUV to get her to the hospital as quickly as possible. Van Pelt, the SUV and the ambulance all converged on the emergency room at the same time.

Jane was wheeled at high speed toward the operating room. He was unconscious now, and the doctor was saying something about how much blood he had lost. Lisbon had managed to take his hand and held onto it as long as she could, the other three agents striding alongside the gurney as a silent sober escort. A nurse punched an automatic door switch and told them they couldn't come any farther. She jerked her head toward a waiting room, as Jane, nurse, paramedics and doctors disappeared down the short hall and around a corner. They stood looking at the slowly closing doors for a moment. Lisbon moved away first, the blanket still wrapped around her, and the others turned to follow her into the waiting room.

After about thirty minutes, Will had fallen asleep on a pallet Van Pelt made for him on the floor. The younger agent turned to ask the boss if she'd like some coffee. It took a while for Lisbon to realize Van Pelt was staring at her. Following Grace's line of sight, she looked down at herself. The blanket had slipped off of her shoulder, and her skin there was caked with dried blood. She bolted for the bathroom and scrambled to wash herself, fighting to keep the sudden nausea at bay. She wished she could strip out of the black lace top and wash the blood out of it but remembered ruefully that she wasn't wearing anything under it. There was a soft knock at the door, and Grace peeked in tentatively holding a set of blue scrubs.

"I asked one of the nurses if they had anything you could change into, and she gave me these."

"Thanks, Grace."

"If you want to step into the stall, Boss, you can slip off that top, and I'll rinse it out for you."

Lisbon hesitated then gave in, realizing her stubbornness and pride were out of place in the current situation. And, she was so tired and almost irrationally worried over the condition of her clothes, she thought it would be best to just let Grace help her.

She handed the top to Van Pelt over the stall door and could hear her working the water and soap from the dispenser through the fabric. Neither woman spoke until Lisbon had slid the scrubs on and was tying the drawstring at her waist.

"Boss, where did you get these clothes?"

"Jane talked me into them. He said I looked too much like a cop."

Lisbon heard Grace stifle a snicker. Then another. Finally she burst into laughter.

"So he thought it would be better if you looked like a hooker?"

"They're not that bad." She said as she exited the stall and her eyes met Van Pelt's in the mirror. "You should have seen the dominatrix dress."

Grace laughed until she cried. And then she just cried. Lisbon stood by her side and put one arm around her shoulders. Grace dipped her head and frowned down at the now clear rinse water.

"I'm sorry, Boss."

"It's ok, Grace. We're all feeling the same way."

Their eyes met in the mirror once more, both of them knowing that looking directly at one another might be too much. Grace gave Lisbon a watery smile, emptied the sink and started squeezing the water out of the black lace.

They returned to the others to find Wayne had made a coffee run and Cho had taken a seat next to Will's makeshift bed. Now all they could do was wait.


	15. Chapter 15

**Haven't done a disclaimer in a while. I still don't own anything or anyone. This is the case chapter - may be a bit dull, but I had to tie up the loose ends.**

15. LISBON'S BIG FINISH

The bullet fired from a high-powered rifle at close range had ripped through Jane's shoulder with such force that it took four units of blood and over five hours to repair the mangle of muscle, ligaments and blood vessels. After the operation, they would keep him in a drug-induced coma for two days while he stabilized.

As the team had huddled together waiting for news that night, Van Pelt relayed the information she had been able to gather with Agent Carsky's help back in Sacramento. Aaron Cook had found A.A. and religion in prison. Carl Woolsey had pled out and when he was sent to CSP Sacramento to await sentencing, he had sought out Cook to tell him what happened. When Cook learned of Micah Landry's murder, he wrestled with his conscience and eventually wrote Tina Landry, telling her a two-decade-old story of drugs, money and murder. The agents wondered what had become of that letter.

Bowles had as good as admitted killing Tina. It was a safe bet that if the letter still existed, they would find it among his effects. But how would he have known about it? Surely Cook wouldn't have told him. But Cook might have told Woolsey. While they waited for Jane to awaken, they worked the case.

Cho headed to the state prison in Sacramento to follow up with the two inmates. In exchange for a reduced sentence for Woolsey and Cook's peace of mind, they told him about happenings from nearly twenty years ago that had set in motion the events of the past few months.

Bowles was an entrepreneur—of sorts. Through less-than-honest activities, he had become acquainted with a cocaine runner from South Africa. The runner was looking for a way to get his product into Europe, but the usual northern routes were being watched too closely by both local and international police. He had a contact in Iraq who could move the drugs north but had no way of getting the merchandise to him. When he learned that Bowles' unit made periodic excursions behind enemy lines, he offered a hefty payout if he could convince the other men in the unit to carry the drugs. It didn't take much to get them to agree. It would be easy enough. Bowles met with the runner in Kuwait the night before each mission. They took the drugs to the meeting place in the desert near an airstrip just outside of Tallil, Iraq. They exchanged drugs for money and carried the money back to the runner in Kuwait. If they got in and got out, they'd be handsomely paid. If they got caught behind enemy lines by the Iraqis, they were dead men anyway—the drugs wouldn't matter.

Cho relayed the information to Lisbon by phone while she waited for Rigsby and Van Pelt to complete their assignments.

"I get why Bowles killed Tina, but what does it have to do with Micah's murder? And why would Cook send Tina what was basically a confession?"

"Not sure, but there's more. Cook said after three runs, one of the members of the unit apparently grew a conscience—started to balk at what they were doing. Just before the last mission, Acer ordered Bowles to murder the drug runner so they could keep all the money from the last drop. He didn't tell the others until they were near Tallil. The man who had a problem with it all lost it. Swore he'd tell and turn them all in, including himself."

"What happened then?"

"Sounds like all hell broke loose. The entire unit turned on him. He managed to kill the twelfth man—a Private Peter Hammond. That's when Bowles drew his pistol and shot the guy on Acer's order."

Hard as she tried, Lisbon still couldn't see the connection to Micah.

"Did they say who this other soldier was?"

"Lieutenant Larry Neville."

"Neville! Any relation to Tina's attorney?"

"His father."

To say Lisbon was surprised was an understatement.

"And you were right about Woolsey and the letter, Boss. When Cook told him he'd written Tina, Woolsey called Acer. He's been following Acer's orders for so long, I don't think he can think for himself anymore—if he ever could. They were probably watching Tina. Neither man could say how Bowles knew she'd be on the road that day, though."

She instructed Cho to go to Hightower and make his report before driving back to Bishop. Van Pelt and local law enforcement were going through Bowles' bar. Rigsby and the local officer-in-charge were hunting McNamara down and probably wouldn't be back for a couple of hours.

She slid her phone into her pocket and turned to look at Jane as he lay sleeping in the hospital bed. It was just as easy working here as it was at the station. At least this way she wasn't so distracted with worrying about him that she couldn't focus on the case. She sighed and shook her head at him. Even in his sleep the man managed to cause her trouble.

She had stayed at the hospital after Jane was out of surgery, ordering everyone else back to the lodge to get a few hours' sleep, sending Will with Van Pelt. Now the little boy was sitting in a swing Grace had retrieved from Tina Landry's home before she dropped him off at the hospital on her way to Oasis. She had also brought Lisbon's computer and what they had put together of the case file so far. She settled in to work, the steady click of the baby swing and the beep of Jane's heart monitor setting a comforting rhythm.

In the early evening, Van Pelt called to check in. She had found Cook's letter to Tina Landry in a metal security box in Bowles' office at the bar. It had a few drops of blood on it that looked like spatter. Tina had probably had it with her in the car that day, maybe in the front passenger seat. She had also located his cell phone with Acer's messages about Jane and Lisbon still active. Rigsby had McNamara in custody and was on the way back to Bishop. The OIC was already working on warrants for cell phones and bank records for all three men.

Lisbon ordered Acer's arrest, and after Van Pelt and Rigsby picked him up, decided he and McNamara could spend the night in jail looking forward to morning interrogations. Cho came back to Bishop, and after he, Rigsby and Van Pelt had checked in at the hospital, Lisbon sent Will back to the lodge with them and settled in for another night in Jane's hospital room.

Early the next morning, she changed into the clothes Van Pelt had dropped off the previous evening. She gave Jane's hand a squeeze, whispered in his ear that she'd be back soon, and left for the station. She wanted the truth, and she didn't care who she had to break to get it.

Acer asked for a lawyer right off the bat. That suited Lisbon just fine. She had already gotten a look at McNamara. He was so scared he was just _waiting_ for a chance to talk. Acer had ordered Tina's death as well as Lieutenant Larry Neville's. He had also sent Bowles after her and Jane. With the sniper dead, as far as she was concerned, that made Acer directly responsible for Jane's current condition and every anxious second she had worried over him.

McNamara gave it up so easily, it was almost anti-climactic. His body practically convulsed with sobbing as he corroborated Woolsey and Cook's testimony, with two added bonuses.

Five years ago, the surviving members of the unit had started getting blackmail threats. Someone knew about their extra-curricular activities in the Gulf, including Neville's murder. Over the years, they had paid out a total of $5,000,000. Acer had used his position at the bank to set up a ghost account using fictitious information. They would all give Acer cash, and over a period of a couple of weeks, he would make a series of small deposits. The blackmailer would send him routing numbers for an off-shore account into which he would transfer funds. That explained why Woolsey and Bowles had next to nothing to show for their lucrative illegal activities. It also accounted for the desperation that drove Carl Woolsey to murder Micah Landry. More was at stake than simple embezzlement charges.

Secondly, Richard Acer was able to make up his share of the blackmail payoffs by siphoning money from the various trusts he handled. He was careful to cultivate a relationship with his clients, taking on the persona of friend or father-figure or whatever else would make them trust him. Tina had confided to him the day before her death that she had received a letter containing information directly related to her husband's murder as well as her intention to take it to Lisbon the next day. Acer had called Bowles, who waited for her on the only road that headed northwest out of Bishop. The color of her car had made it easy to spot her.

After interviewing McNamara, Lisbon asked Van Pelt to take a look at Bowles' older texts and voicemails and blessed whatever paranoia or compulsion that kept the sniper from erasing his messages. She entered the interrogation room where Acer and his attorney waited. Ignoring the lawyer, she spoke directly to the man McNamara would only refer to as the Major.

"Carl Woolsey, Aaron Cook and Sean McNamara have all been very forthcoming, Mr. Acer. Why don't you do yourself a favor and just make a clean breast of things?"

"Agent Lisbon, I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

"I don't think that's how you want to play this."

He leaned toward her from across the table with a smug grin.

"I guess we're at an impasse then. What will you try next, I wonder? Tricking me? Threatening me? I may not be completely immune to a little flirtation if you want to play 'good cop'".

She had only wanted to give the appearance of offering him the opportunity to talk. She had known how she wanted to end this interview before she even entered the room.

"Actually, Mr. Acer, we have everything we need. Your former team members have given us the answers to all of our questions, and everything points to you. You're being charged with murder, conspiracy to commit murder and attempted murder of state law enforcement agents. I'm sure the bank will seek to press charges for embezzlement, as well. After the state of California is through with you, we'll be turning our evidence over to the Judge Advocate General to aid them in their investigation into the murder of Lieutenant Lawrence Neville. You will end up, at the very least, spending the rest of your life in prison, and, frankly, I don't care if it's civilian or military."

She stood and turned her back on him to leave, but when she heard the attorney say he would call Ruth Acer about arranging for bail, she turned back to deliver a parting shot.

"I wouldn't count on that. I took the liberty of calling your wife. She said you're on your own."

She walked out of the room, his shouted pleas for a deal and a second chance to tell the truth wafting down the hall behind her. She didn't remember ever feeling more satisfied with an arrest. She only wished Jane were here.

She spent the second night at the hospital finishing up the case paperwork, thinking she would tease Jane when he awakened about how light her workload was when he was comatose. On second thought, she really didn't think that was so amusing. Maybe she should be nice to him when he woke up. After all, the man did save her life.

The next day she met the team for breakfast at the little café one last time. Then they walked back to the station and knocked out a joint report and packed up. Lisbon said good-bye to her team, and she and Will headed back to the hospital. She spent the day reading and napping, playing with Will, talking to Jane and beating him at cards. She really hoped it was true that people can still hear when they're in a coma.

That night, she opted to sleep at the lodge. Jane would wake up tomorrow, and she knew she would need to be rested. She had traded her room for a larger one with two double beds and room for a crib. Jane would need to rest for a couple of days after his release from the hospital before he could make the trip back home. It would be easier to keep an eye on him if she kept him close.

The nurse came in at ten o'clock the next morning and turned off the narcotic drip. She told Lisbon it would take a while for the drug levels to dip low enough for him to wake up, and even then he would probably be pretty groggy.

Twenty minutes later, Jane's eyes fluttered open. He stretched them wide a few times, but couldn't seem to make himself come completely awake. Before he slipped back into sleep, he had to be sure of something. His eyes swept the room. She was sitting on a small couch by the window, reading a book to Will. She must have heard a change in his breathing or the beeping rhythm of his monitor because she turned to him and smiled. Her whole face lit up—just like when he had gotten her the pony. She put Will in his swing and came softly to the bedside.

"Are you alive?" He managed to rasp out.

"I'm alive." She assured him in a whisper.

"Am I alive?"

"Yes, you're alive too."

"That's good. Can I have a drink?"

She poured a cup of water from a pitcher on the bedside table. He tried to raise himself, but the pain in his shoulder was too sharp, and he fell back against the pillow. Lisbon slid her hand under his head.

"Here. Relax and let me do the lifting."

She raised his head and held the cup to his lips, careful to match the flow of the water to his ability to take it in and swallow. He indicated he'd had enough and closed his eyes as she laid his head back on the pillow. When she put the cup down and turned back to him, his hand slid into hers, their thumbs intertwining and fingers wrapping around each other's wrists.

"Better?"

"Better. What happened?"

"Which time?"

"Whadda ya mean?" He was still groggy, fighting the pull back into sleep.

"When you got shot or during the two days since then?"

His eyes fluttered open again.

"Two days?"

"Yes. Are you going back to sleep?"

"No . . . no. What time is it?

"A little after ten in the morning."

"What about the case?"

"The case is solved."

"Solved?"

"Yes."

"Without me?"

She would have thought he was being his usual arrogant self if not for the pout.

"Yes. Are you feeling left out?"

"Little."

"You didn't miss much. It was all cell phone logs and bank records and following leads."

"Meh." Now his eyes were completely closed and he was barely awake.

"Exactly. I'll tell you all about it when you wake up."

"I am awake."

"Yeah, but not by much. Why don't you just go back to sleep."

"You be here?"

"I'll be here."

"Night, Lisbon."

"Sleep, Jane."


	16. Chapter 16

16. COUNTERPOINT

"Thank heavens you're here!" Lisbon pressed on as the flustered nurse rushed toward her.

"What's he done now?"

"Name it."

"Insulting, infuriating or inappropriate?"

"Yes, yes and yes. The doctor's already been in and released him. I've got his paperwork right here. Wheelchair's waiting outside his room. If I can just get you to sign this, he's all yours!"

She couldn't help smiling to herself as she signed, legally agreeing to accept all responsibility for him. If she needed proof that Jane was okay, it was written large on the face of every healthcare professional in the building. She'd probably get a standing ovation as she wheeled him out the door. Pausing outside his room, she schooled her features into a scowl of disapproval. When she walked in, he looked so happy to see her she just couldn't make it stick.

"I hear you've been busy."

"In all fairness, Lisbon, we both know I'm not cut out to be a good patient. I think you could've gotten me out of here yesterday if you'd just flirted with the doctor a little."

He looked her up and down then cocked his head to look into the hall behind her.

"Where's Will?"

"I left him with Mrs. Willis at the lodge. She agreed to watch him while I came to get you. She knew I'd have my hands full with one child, let alone two."

"Mrs. Willis? What do you know about her other than she runs a nice little travelers' lodge? She's never mentioned having children. How much experience does she have with kids?"

"She's fine, Jane. She has kids—and grandkids. And don't worry, she's clean."

"_Clean?_" He peered at her curiously. She looked back at him sheepishly.

"I ran a background check."

He grinned at her then. "That's the Lisbon I know and love: the perfect blend of loving mother and paranoid cop."

"Shush. I'm just taking care of him like he's my own."

"He is your own."

"That's right, he is. So I won't need you constantly sticking your nose in."

His feelings were hurt, and he looked at her like he couldn't quite comprehend why she had said that.

"Do you really mean that?"

"Only a little."

His face brightened. "Good. That leaves wiggle room."

"There is no wiggle room. I don't want you wiggling into anything. Why do you need to wiggle this anyway?"

He shrugged and answered nonchalantly, sure that his reasoning made perfect sense. "You're strung too tight. I guess it's to be expected with your job and personality. But you're going to be overly strict, and the little man's going to need a break from that sometimes. I can provide counterpoint. Besides you can't watch out for him _all_ of the time."

"I can watch out for him just fine. I don't need you on protection detail."

He was suddenly serious, looking at her in that way that made her feel uncomfortable, like he was too close, too personal. She could never look away when he looked at her like that.

"I won't be able to help myself."

His gaze softened but lost none of its intensity. He needed her to know he meant what he was trying to say. In the past, when he had the time to consider his actions, he had always shied away from danger. He stepped back when guns were drawn, stayed safely out of the way when they made a bust, never chased a suspect. But when circumstances unfolded too fast for him to think anything through, he always saved her. Will was part of her family now, part of _her_. And by extension, Jane would always save him too.

"Jane . . ." She didn't know what to say. She cleared her throat and swallowed.

"Let's get you out of here. I brought some clothes for you to change into."

And just like that, the moment passed. He gingerly swung his legs to the side of the bed.

"Already done. The nurses gave me a set of scrubs to wear. Said I didn't have to worry about bringing them back."

She couldn't help laughing at him.

"I'll bet they did. Wait—don't stand up! Let me bring the wheelchair in, and I'll help you."

On the way back to the lodge, Lisbon told Jane about the case. They talked and laughed easily. Everything was good until he told her how impressed he was at how quickly and efficiently they had managed everything.

"Yeah. I know you find it hard to believe, but we _are_ able to find our hands at the end of our arms without you."

They bantered and bickered over it, Jane trying to clarify what he meant and Lisbon not letting him off the hook. Eventually he asked about the interviews.

"Acer lawyered up, and McNamara couldn't talk fast enough, left the Major hanging out to dry."

'You made McNamara cry, didn't you? I know you did." He grinned, egging her into admitting it.

Resting her left elbow on the ledge below the driver's side window, she raised her hand to her hair, twirling a strand around her index finger.

"Yeah. Yeah, I did." She said with a satisfied little smile.

"And how did you leave Acer?"

"Begging for mercy."

"That's my girl."

They pulled into the parking lot, and Lisbon helped Jane inside. When he saw the room, he looked at her with one eyebrow arched in question. She shrugged at him in response. Once he was situated, she went to retrieve Will. She got them both tucked in to their respective beds and picked up her keys.

"Where are you going?"

"Just a loose end I need to tie up. Probably won't take me much more than an hour. Do you need anything?"

"Yeah." He paused, waiting for her to look at him.

"Be careful."

She smiled and turned to walk out the door. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep.

""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""

"I've been expecting you, Agent Lisbon." Allen Neville waved her into a chair then seated himself sideways on his desk in front of her, one foot planted on the floor.

"Then I don't have to come up with a subtle way to start this conversation?"

He gave her a small but calm smile. "No, I think we can bypass that. I know you know everything. McNamara wouldn't be able to keep quiet. Probably cried through the whole interrogation. And you probably enjoyed it."

She calmly smiled in return but said nothing.

"And Acer? What's going to happen to him?"

"I'm not exactly sure. Just before he and McNamara were scheduled to be moved to Sacramento, a bunch of very stern-looking MPs showed up and escorted him into a military transport. They weren't very gentle about it either. I'm sure _you_ probably would have enjoyed _that_."

Neville considered that for a moment then asked the next question on his mind.

"What happens now?"

"I take my baby and my battered consultant back to Sacramento and help the Prosecutor put a case together."

"Ah. Mr. Jane. How is he?"

"Waiting for me to get back. I just needed to ask you a couple of questions."

"Agent Lisbon, I won't be able to tell you—"

She waved her hand in a dismissive way, effectively silencing him.

"Not those kind of questions. Van Pelt couldn't trace any of the IPs you'd given Acer, and the FBI has bigger fish to fry. You probably moved all the money as soon as you heard about the arrest, and Acer destroyed your letters right after he read them so no one would find them by accident. What I want to know is . . . You live a very quiet life. Your only vacation is a week of fly fishing every year in Montana. You drive a car that's ten years old. You're every bit the small-town attorney. What have you done with all that money?"

He reached behind him and lifted a manila envelope from the desk and handed it to her. She slid the sheaf of papers out and read from the cover page.

"The Lawrence Watson Neville Scholarship Fund?"

"It's to help pay college tuition for high school seniors from small towns in California and Nevada whose fathers or mothers have been killed in military service."

She considered the document in front of her a moment before sliding it back into the envelope and handing it back to him.

"How did you find out about what happened to your father?" She asked him softly.

"The night before the last mission, he wrote a letter and put it with his personal effects. When Mom got word he was dead, she lost it. Ended up in an institution and died five months later. I was raised by my uncle. All of Dad's stuff got packed away and put into storage. My uncle passed away six years ago, and when I was going through everything. I found the letter at the bottom of one of the boxes with Dad's watch, military ID and wedding band. It took me a year to process everything and figure out what I wanted to do with it."

"Why not just hand it over to the military authorities?"

"Then my dad's part in it would've come out. I thought they'd taken enough from him. I didn't want him to lose his honor, too. Anyway, now that it's over, it doesn't seem to matter."

"I don't think you have to worry about your dad's honor. He died trying to do the right thing even though he knew what the outcome would probably be. And he's left behind a pretty good legacy."

She stood then and shook hands with him.

"Good-bye, Mr. Neville. Take care."

You, too. And thanks, Agent Lisbon . . . for everything."

She got in the car and drove back to the lodge, stopping only at a roadside stand when she saw a sign for clover honey.


	17. Chapter 17

17. WHERE I WANT YOU

She was surprised to find Jane still awake when she returned to the room. He was overdue for his pain medication, and she could tell from the set of his jaw that the discomfort was enough to have him on edge. But he insisted on her telling him how her conversation with Neville had gone. Satisfied that she was satisfied, he agreed to take half the prescribed dose. She hoped he would be able to rest, and she settled in to finish up some odds and ends of paperwork.

One hour later, he was driving her crazy. For years she had wished he would shut up. Now she wondered why he wasn't talking. She was trying to work, and she could feel the silence, trying to confuse her, making her angry. He was still wearing the scrubs from the hospital, sitting on one of the beds watching television, his upper body against the headboard, his legs stretched out straight and crossed at the ankles. He had found an old black-and-white classic film to watch, finally giving the remote a rest. He was staring at the screen, but she could tell he wasn't paying attention to the movie. Usually when he was with her, he was talking. If he was quiet, he was almost always thinking about the case. But there wasn't a case now. Something was on his mind, and she had no idea what it was.

All she could think was, "Please don't let it be about the alley."

She had been thinking about the conversation they'd just overheard, and then they were trapped. Once they were clear of the bar, all she could think about was calling Grace, then Bowles had shot out the tire, and everything went crazy, and Jane was hurt, and she was numb. Once he was out of surgery and everyone was gone, she had laid on the couch in his hospital room listening to his heart monitor and his steady breathing, thankful for the persistent proof that he was still alive. Lying there in the quiet dark, thinking through the events of the day, she had come to that moment in the alley. She had closed her eyes to will the memory of it away, but instead, her body had remembered the sensations her mind had ignored in the fear-induced adrenaline rush of the moment.

Thinking about it now, she couldn't remember what Bowles and McNamara had said or the barely subdued panic of nearly being caught or the relief of making it to the SUV. All she could remember was that kiss. She had initiated it with warmth—it had to look convincing, after all. But what Jane had done . . . and like that she was lying on the couch in the dark again, her skin feeling flushed and a soft smile playing at her lips. She tilted her head and looked up to see Jane watching her curiously.

She jerked her eyes away from him and gathered the pages in front of her, lifting them and tapping them on the table beside her just before she shoved them into a file folder.

"Going outside." She mumbled as she grabbed her all-but-abandoned book and rushed out to the patio. Whatever this was would pass. She would be fine. She just needed some air.

She nearly groaned when he dropped into the chair next to her but caught herself just in time. What was wrong with her? They had been in a bind and had done what they had to do to get out of it. If she could just stop feeling his lips on her throat, his breath on her skin . . . she squirmed in her chair. She didn't have to look at him to know he was watching her. She squirmed again. She needed to get a grip. That was another thing . . . the way his hands had gripped her . . . _Just read the stupid book._

It would really help if he did something typically jerk-ish right now. Even if he brought up the kiss . . . _Was it just one kiss? It seemed like it should qualify as more. You know what? I'm a big girl. I'm a smart girl. I can just act like it never happened. He keeps looking at me like he wants to talk, but if I act like it never happened, he'll follow my lead._

"So . . . I was hoping we could talk about what happened in the alley."

"The alley?" She replied as nonchalantly as possible, not even looking up from her stupid book. It probably would have sounded more convincing if she hadn't choked a little.

"I'm sorry. I haven't kissed a woman in a long time, and I guess I just got carried away."

She breathed a sigh of relief. That was an acceptable explanation. She would just tell him she understood, they could forget it ever happened, no need to ever speak of it again . . .

"You just smelled so good and tasted . . . " He inhaled deeply to replace the breath that had just been stolen away. He had _not_ meant to say that out loud.

She had been relieved, then a little disappointed. Now her disappointment morphed into something else.

"Tasted how?"

His head snapped up, and he looked at her to see her smirking at him.

"Like beer."

She burst into laughter, and his mouth quirked unevenly with a light and breathy chuckle. She calmed herself with great effort and turned to look at him seriously only to do a very bad job of trying to stifle the second round of laughter that bubbled up and out of her throat. He just kept looking at her with the same lop-sided grin, waiting patiently for her to stop.

"Are we going to forget it happened?"

"Honestly, Jane, I don't think I could. I'm just not sure how I want to remember it."

"With regular anniversaries?"

She laughed again until her eyes moistened at the corners. It felt so good to laugh. It was so easy.

"Only if the alley's in a better neighborhood."

"I know just the place."

Her laughter had subsided to a lazy chuckle now. She drew her legs up and let her knees fall to one side as she turned to face him. Her book had fallen on the flagstone, forgotten.

She considered whatever this thing was that was them together as she looked at him. It had gotten to be a habit, being annoyed by Jane. It was a defense mechanism to keep distance between them. In the first several months they had worked together, she had thought he was a danger to the team and to her established way of doing things. The latter was true, of course, but not the former. He had come to them seeing them as tools to use, game pieces to move around to get what he was after. But she could tell when he started caring, when he started understanding. She had watched him self-destruct every time Red John reared his head and then—every time—rise from the ashes, singed only the smallest bit.

In the past, he had kept his schemes from her yet revealed his darkest secrets. For months now, since before Red John's death, there wasn't anything he kept hidden. He had shared his past with her as well as his present, and the two had merged together so she could know him as a whole. In the last few days, he had been helpful and supportive, and it had been nice having him around. Actually, she had felt it was nice having him around for quite a while now. It was only when he pulled his bonehead crap on a case that she really wished him to a far corner of the earth. Even then she was amused by the way he said things to people she wished she could say. He used words like irk and buffoon. Who talks like that anyway? And she would _never_ let him know how she appreciated it when he got men to stop ogling and disrespecting her and Grace by embarrassing them in front of everyone.

"What are you thinking right now?"

"Don't you know? I thought I was translucent."

"You actually fluctuate. Sometimes translucent, sometimes transparent. Sometimes I can't read you at all."

"I'd rather you _never _read me."

"You'd rather I not know when you're craving doughnuts or something's happened with one of your brothers or you need a backrub?"

"That's just it. I'd rather you _know_ all that stuff, not read me to see it. I would rather you know _me_. When you read me, it makes me feel like a mark. And you've never given me a backrub."

"Yeah, but I can tell when you need one. And I could start."

She leaned her head against the tall back of her chair and closed her eyes. She realized she hadn't stopped smiling since he told her she tasted like beer.

"This is really weird—"

"That it's not weird? I know. I could tell you didn't think about it when we were . . . in the moment. But I knew once everything slowed down and you had a chance to catch your breath, you'd realize what happened. Frankly, I was surprised that after Bowles shot me you didn't finish the job. I can't tell you how immensely relieved I am that you're taking it so well."

He watched her as she sat there with her eyes closed, that lazy smile on her lips. And he waited. He could watch her and wait for a long time, he decided. She had put her hair up in that high ponytail again—the one that had gotten him into trouble just a few days before. The wind had teased a thin lock of her hair loose, and she pushed it behind her ear to keep it from whipping into her face. After two more unsuccessful attempts at keeping the wayward strand in place, Jane sat up and turned to sit on the side of his chair and reached out to tuck the silky wisp back behind her ear. He held it there, his fingers curled lightly around her ear, his thumb softly stroking her cheekbone.

Back and forth.

Almost hypnotic.

But this wasn't Jane hypnotizing her. This was her giving in. It should be a lot harder than this. There should be more angst. He should be unsure and guilty, and she should be afraid and unyielding, but she could tell by his touch that he meant this. She turned her face toward him and opened her eyes to look directly into his.

"Trust you to be contrary even in this. You just can't ever let anything be the way it's supposed to be."

Not surprisingly, he knew exactly what she meant. His smile made her feel like she'd been wrapped in something warm and soft.

"Now, where's the fun in that?"

He stretched across the distance between them and kissed her, thinking it a very good sign that she didn't stiffen. Or hit him. With such resounding encouragement and without breaking the kiss, he raised himself just enough to move from his chair to sit on the edge of hers. Feeling what he was doing, she scooted backwards to make more room for him, still without breaking apart. He deepened the kiss, pulsing his lips against hers in a slow, soft rhythm. Keeping his hand on her cheek, he braced his other arm along the chair's arm rest, his upper body almost encircling hers. They didn't embrace, her arms resting at her sides relaxed against the chair back and seat, their lips and his hand on her face the only points of contact. She started to pull back to catch her breath, but his hand slid to the back of her neck, his fingers cupping the back of her head, holding her in place. She inhaled deeply through her nose and decided that would do just fine. It was an introduction of sorts, a quiet exploration. Not wanting it to go too far too fast, Jane slowed it down, separating the kiss into a series of shorter ones—deep, soft bursts of touch—turning his head with each brush to kiss her at a different angle before he pulled away to look at her.

He didn't need to see her to assess the situation. He had a pretty good idea how it was going. But he wanted to look into her eyes. Now if she would just open them.

"Is that it? Are we done?"

"Open your eyes."

"Why?"

"So I can see what you're saying with them."

"Can't we just keep doing what we were doing?"

"In a minute. Open your eyes, Teresa."

"You're very bossy."

"And you are very stubborn."

She opened one eye in a squint. It felt more awkward looking at him than it had felt kissing him. He was smiling. A real, honest-to-god smile. Like she'd been away and he was happy to see her. She loved that smile. She opened both eyes wide and smiled back. Jade was now officially his favorite color.

"So?"

"So what?"

"What are they saying?"

"They're saying that you haven't been this happy in a long time—that you can't believe how lucky you are to be sitting here with the handsomest, most charming, most—"

"You are such an idiot."

"I love it when you're abusive."

"Shut up and kiss me."

"Yes, ma'am."

They resumed their previous activity in the same position, but when she lightly traced the underside of his upper lip with her tongue, he groaned and—wrapping one arm around her waist—pulled her closer to him. She broke the kiss and turned her head slightly.

"You're not looking for the door again, are you?"

"I know where the door is, Jane."

"Just checking."

He trailed the same soft, deep kisses down her throat to her pulse point, lingering there for a moment before brushing his barely parted lips back up the side of her neck to find her mouth again. He gave her a firm full kiss then pulled away to look at her again. This time she had no problem looking back.

"These chairs are great for reading and taking in the view, but they're a little awkward for this. Now that I've got you where I want you, I can't . . . get you where I want you."

"What do you suggest, genius?"

"There's a perfectly good couch in our room."

"Will's in our room."

"I don't think he'll mind."

Her brow furrowed. Her mind was beginning to whir. He could almost hear the humming. He knew there was any number of uncertainties that could send her running. Bless her, she was skittish. He just needed to pull her back before she got away from him. She started to shake her head slowly.

"Jane, I don't—"

"Teresa."

"Hm?" She looked up at him, and his breath was stolen away again. He saw such abject trust in her eyes, as if she were depending on him to make her see that everything was all right. All he had to do was say the right thing.

"We've got all the time in the world."

She threaded her fingers through his and stood, pulling him to his feet and toward the door. Once inside, he tugged her back to him, winding one arm around her tiny waist again, the other circling around her neck and moving across and down her opposite shoulder. He leaned her to the side and turned his head to kiss her, cradling her head in the crook of his elbow, and her head tilted back as he pulled her full against him. Her arms came around him, one at his waist and the other around his neck and diagonally down his back as far as she could reach. His fingertips bore into her back, massaging in languid circles, and she fisted both hands in the back of his shirt. He kissed her slow, warm and deep, taking his time so she would know he meant what he had said. She'd never been so thoroughly kissed in her life.

Will stirred in his crib and started to babble. Jane broke the kiss, smiling when Lisbon groaned. He rubbed his cheek against hers not ready to break contact completely.

"Why don't you get Will's stuff together, and I'll take you to the café for an early dinner."

Even in her throaty whisper, he could hear the smirk in her voice.

"_You're_ buying _me_ dinner? You must be serious about this."

"Oh, I am serious."

"Aren't you going to change?"

"I kind of like these. You don't wanna play doctor later?"

"There's no pocket for your wallet."

"You are too observant, my love."

"Don't try to sweet talk me, my dear."

And just like that they were together.

They lingered over dinner, and the closest they got to having the "relationship talk" was when Lisbon wondered aloud about the regulations regarding fraternization.

"They don't apply to us since I'm a consultant, not an agent."

She paused mid-chew and raised her eyebrow at him questioningly.

"For some reason, I got curious about it a couple of weeks ago, so I read the handbook and double-checked with Harris in personnel."

She dropped her fork on her plate, looking at him with astonishment. He held up his hands as if to show her he wasn't hiding anything.

"Lisbon, I swear I didn't plan or manipulate anything here. Nothing that's happened—"

"It's not that. I just can't believe you read the handbook."

"Ha. Amusing. Do you want to talk about work?"

"Why? I've already solved the case."

"You can't resist reminding me of that, can you? I mean, do you want to talk about what will happen when we get back to work?"

"Not really."

It was his turn to be astonished.

"What? No ground rules? No boundaries? No threats?"

"You want me to tell you to behave? You never do. You just have to remember who's the boss."

"We're just talking about work, right?"

"We'll see. What do _you_ expect when we get back?"

She waited as he considered her question.

"Well, I really like your hair like that. And if Marilyn could put in an appearance from time to time . . . ?"

"That's it? You want me to channel Marilyn?"

"And make sure you pack that skirt."

She took the conversation in a different direction. They talked about what needed to be done before they started back the next day. While Jane was still in the hospital the day before, Lisbon had walked through Tina's house with a realtor and packed up Will's things and anything else she thought he might want of his mother's and father's. Before she picked Jane up that morning, she had called a financial consultant at her bank about transferring Will's trust. In the morning, she would go to the local bank and sign the necessary papers, then meet the movers at Tina's about having some of the furniture delivered to her own apartment. The rest was going to charity.

The waitress smiled at them and brought them free pie. Jane couldn't be more pleased with the way everything was going, but two bites into his Dutch apple, he put his fork down and leaned his head into his hands.

"Let's get you back. It's past time for your pain meds, and you need to rest."

"That's probably a good idea."

"Wow. You bought my dinner, and now you're agreeing with me? Sure you're not taking things too fast?"

"You know, even on you, snarky can only look so good."

"Sorry. I keep forgetting how sensitive you are. Come on. I'll let you lean on me."

"You always have. I'm hoping to start returning the favor."

"You threw yourself in front of a bullet for me. Let's call it even."

She lifted Will's seat with one hand and circled Jane's waist with her other arm. He draped his arm across her shoulders. As they walked the few yards to the lodge, he turned and kissed her hair, closing his eyes and breathing in its scent before he turned back and leaned his cheek against her head the rest of the walk back. By the time they got to their room, she was practically supporting his full weight.

She gave him his pain medication and helped him into bed. Then, she gave Will a bottle and put him down for the night. She stepped into the bathroom, changed into her sleep shorts and tank top. She smiled at her reflection as she brushed her teeth and took her hair down and brushed it out. Shutting off the light, she waited for her eyes to adjust before opening the door and stepping out into the darkened bedroom. It was so still, she knew the little man and the big one were both asleep.

She walked toward her bed, thought better of it and, lifting the covers, slid smoothly in next to Jane. He was on his back, as lying on either side would have put a strain on his shoulder. She leaned toward him to kiss him softly on the cheek, and in his sleep he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her to his side. For all these years, she thought she wanted to get away from him, and now she couldn't _stay_ away. This did not bode well for her sanity. Oh, well.

He had awakened in the night with a painful groan. She gave him another dose of painkiller, and he was still sleeping soundly in the morning when she emerged from the bathroom. She stroked his hair as she leaned down and spoke softly in his ear.

"Jane, I'm leaving for a while now."

He didn't open his eyes and just barely opened his mouth at one corner as he answered her.

"Sweetheart, do you think when you wake me up in the morning, you could _not_ call me by my last name?"

"Patrick", she drawled, "I'm leaving. Will's still asleep, but he might be up in a while. Will you be okay?"

He grunted in the affirmative and—without opening his eyes—turned his face to her for a kiss.

She stepped out and pulled the door shut behind her. Once outside, she turned her face upwards toward the sun and smiled.


	18. Chapter 18

**This is the last chapter. I'm thinking about a sequel. Would that be a three-quel? I wouldn't own anything either way. Thanks for reading and reviewing - especially lisbon69, Lisbon4Ever, Jbon, lucyyh, Ukrainian-Cat, 24Mentalistlover, TrinityBlade, Country2776, and Streak of the Sun. You've been so encouraging-I couldn't ask for more!**

18. TAKE US HOME

It had been a long day, which was odd since there really hadn't been much to it. They had been called out at mid-morning for a case. Once the coroner arrived and confirmed their theory that the death was a suicide, they had returned to the office to spend the time catching up on paperwork and filing. She'd sent everyone home early, telling them to keep their phones with them in case she needed to call them back.

They had solved the case of Tina Landry's murder and returned home from Bishop a month ago. Jane had been ordered to take medical leave, and today was his first day back. She was worn out with avoiding him. They actually avoided each other—all part of the dance to keep their relationship a secret.

It wasn't against the rules, but they both knew it would be better if it were just between the two of them for a while. A secret they protected from the glares—some disapproving, some merely curious—of the outside world until they felt they could keep it safe from the barrage of attention it was bound to receive once it was exposed.

She must be tired. Her thoughts were sounding like bad contemporary prose.

It was only four thirty. She was on her sixth coffee of the day . . . or was it her seventh? The endless brew cycles and the big mug made it all run together. It was bitter anyway. She should just pour it down the sink, but she'd already taken a drink of it and turned away to trudge back to her office.

She looked at his couch as she walked toward the bullpen. He wasn't there, and she felt an unreasonable anger rise up in her. For a month, she'd only seen him in the evenings anyway. Why should it matter that he wasn't on his couch at a time of day when she was used to not seeing him and knowing his exact location?

She knew what this was—something sweet and frightening at the same time. She tried to emotionally dig her heels in and fight this thing with Jane as it pulled her along to a place she found herself torn between wanting to be and wanting to avoid. It was a losing battle. She felt stupid for having such strong and—what felt like to her—such irrational feelings. Feelings like what she'd had today.

She was having to share him. She was so used to having his undivided attention that when he had been his usual work self around her today, she had felt deprived, as if he wasn't paying any attention to her at all. During the days of his leave, he was alone, waiting for her to come home. Last week he had begged her to let Will stay home from daycare with him, and she had given in only to come home and find them napping together in a tent Jane had made out of blankets, books and chairs from her kitchen. She had been so jealous, wishing she had been part of the campout too.

Had she ever been so needy, so clingy in her life? And when had she started thinking of Jane's visits to her house as his being "home"? It was her home and Will's—not Jane's. It wasn't sharing Jane that was bothering her. It was the uncontrollable desire to share _herself_. The coffee tasted even more bitter now.

She heard voices coming from inside her office and, recognizing them, turned to walk in their direction. She couldn't help the smile that wheedled its way onto her lips. Were there any more delicious sounds in the world? She rolled her eyes at herself. Could she _be_ any more . . . _squishy_?

She leaned against the door frame and watched them, cradling her coffee in both hands just inches away from her lips. Jane was sitting in her chair (Startlingly enough, she wasn't bothered by that.), and he was holding Will safely in place sitting on her desk, facing him. Jane was talking to the boy, his mouth close to the little ear, his voice so low she couldn't hear what he was saying. Judging by Will's delighted grin and his soft babbling and squeals, she guessed it was some kind of sweet idiocy—something at which Jane excelled. The warmth and affection she felt swelled in her chest until it hurt with the desire for release.

As if he felt her eyes on him—or had he felt what she was feeling?—he turned to look at her, confused when he saw her shaking her head at him. He'd seen her do it before. Many times. On those occasions, he knew she was silently asking, "What am I going to do with you?"

But this was different. His gaze cleared with understanding as he realized she was asking the question about herself. What was she going to do about the way she felt about him?

"Come here."

She didn't hesitate, her feet moving toward him before he even got the second word out. She set her coffee cup on the desk out of Will's reach and stood next to Jane where he still sat in the chair. She raised her hand to the back of his head, fingertips barely touching his hair at the base of his skull. Careful to keep his hold on the baby, his arm nearest her snaked around her waist and drew her to him. He leaned his head into her chest and turned slightly until half of his face was buried against her. Her sigh answered his as she threaded her fingers into his hair and leaned down to place a light but lingering kiss on the top of his head.

"I'm glad we've finally found _something_ you don't want to argue over."

She smiled into his hair and inhaled.

"Don't get used to it."

"I'm afraid I already am, my dear."

Good. It was subtle, but he was letting her know he was just as lost as she was. When he spoke again it vibrated into her.

"I want you to want me."

"I need you to need me."

He pulled back to look up at her, surprised that she would say something so telling about her feelings.

"I do need you."

"Oh, sorry. I thought we were reciting Cheap Trick lyrics."

He squeezed her and pinched her side. When she squirmed against him, his eyes darkened, and he buried his face into her again. She knew he was willing himself to stay composed. She felt guilty for his need to keep himself under control. She thought back to their ride back from the crime scene that day.

"_Don't do that while I'm driving."_

"_Pull over then."_

"_Cho would pull over after us."_

"_Let him get his own woman."_

"_Jane" That was her "remember-who's-the-boss" tone. He didn't have to stop yet. There was still "If-you-don't-stop-that-right-now", "I've-got-a-gun" and "I-can-make-you-wanna-die". That is, if she didn't cut straight to "You're-riding-with-Rigsby"._

_They had barely spoken all morning. At the crime scene, he had been perfectly professional, barely looking at her. But every time they got in the car, he insisted on touching her. Now he had his hand on her thigh the way he had in the Ditch that day, acting like he was warning the other men off._

"_Oh, no", he had assured her in no uncertain terms when she had brought it up two weeks after they got back, "that was no act, my dear."_

_They had been sitting in her apartment, lounging on each other on the couch while they talked, experimenting with all of the ways their hands fit together. Jane had gotten up to make tea, and on his return, pushed her up into a sitting position. He sat next to her then laid his arm across her lap and curved his hand around the outside of her thigh while he drank his tea and they both tried to concentrate on the dvd she'd started. His touch was always a bone-melting mix of loving and possessive. She had never trusted anyone enough to let them touch her like that._

_But right now it was just distracting._

"_Can you at least move your hand?"_

_He tried to oblige._

"_Not like that!" She hissed at him and looked in her rearview mirror as if the agents riding in the car behind them could see and hear._

"_Relax, woman." He reached up to massage the fingers of her right hand into relinquishing their death grip on the steering wheel. She surrendered her hand to his and sighed._

"_You're delightfully Puritanical at times, you know that?"_

She had winced slightly at his words.

She had been uneasy about certain areas of their relationship. He wanted to spend more time at her apartment. If he did, he may as well live there, and she didn't like the idea of shacking up. She wasn't a prude, but she was rather traditional.

As for other areas of their relationship . . . well, Grace had no idea how right she had been about her boss. She _was_ cautious, and it _may_ take forever. He left no room for doubt about how he felt about her and had told her a week ago that he loved her. It still amazed her how easy it had been for him to say it . . . and for her to hear it. Almost everything about the romantic part of their relationship had seemed easy—so natural in how it came together.

But she was still so unsure. She knew she possessed a great aptitude for screwing this up. Her lack of faith in herself—and something else she couldn't quite identify—had kept her from saying the words back to him. He had told her it was okay and that he understood. He hadn't said the words just to have her "regurgitate them back" (apparently his way with words having momentarily failed him), and searching his eyes, she'd found no lie in them. She was just afraid if she moved too fast she would mess up, and if she moved wrong, she'd drive him away, so she decided to play it safe and not move at all.

She wasn't backing out. She knew she loved him and was fast approaching the place where she would never willingly let him go. As it often happened, he seemed to know what she was thinking. Without moving his head, he murmured against her.

"I've said it's all right. What we have is good. I want all of you, Teresa, but for now I'm happy to take whatever you can give."

Tears came to her eyes. How did he _do_ that?

"I _do_ want you! I just . . . I keep feeling like I'm braking when I should be clutching."

"You speak, and it's like poetry."

"Don't make fun of me."

"I'll make whatever I want of you. You're mine."

If any other man had said that to her, she would have taken his head off. She felt a heated tingle bloom in her chest and radiate out into her arms. He took in the sudden shift. He looked up at her again and saw the relaxed posture and lazy smile. Her fingers were making languid circles against his scalp.

She just needed time. They both did. He'd only taken his wedding ring off and put it away a week ago, right before he'd told her loved her. He wasn't in a position to try and push her for anything more. He had noticed she wasn't completely comfortable with him in her home. It bothered him more that he had to ask her to call him by his first name than it did that she hadn't said she loved him yet. Something was holding her back from giving him her whole self, but he couldn't figure out what it was. He had tried to talk to her about their relationship, knowing they needed to. Why was he the one that always initiated that? Sometimes he wondered which of them was the girl in this relationship. He turned his face further into her. Well, that answered that. If he was trying to regain control, this was not the position to be in. His hand had slid further down on the back of her body, and he stroked back and forth a couple of times before he raised it to the safer area at the small of her back.

"Teresa, I do want you, in every way. But I want you to be sure. I want everything to be right. Everything has been perfect—I don't want to mess it up now. And we both know I'm perfectly capable of it."

She knew it shouldn't surprise her at this point when she heard her own thoughts coming from his mouth, but it still did.

"Besides, I've waited for a few years, I can wait longer."

_That_ surprised her.

"_A few__ years_? We've only been together a month, and even if you had feelings for me before that, I would've noticed something in a few _years_. I mean, you're good, but I would've picked up on _something_!"

"Maybe I didn't know I was waiting. Or maybe I'm not sure when it started. But think about it, Teresa. Did I every spring for donuts or dinner or even coffee when you weren't included?"

"I guess that means something. You are pretty cheap."

Ignoring the jibe, he continued.

"Did I ever make origami for anyone else? Drive anyone else around the countryside in my car? Drive anyone else around in _Mash's_ car? Go to anyone else when I wanted to share something new? Did I try even once to _ever_ please anyone else?"

"No", she answered thoughtfully.

"And did I argue or bicker with anyone else like I did with you?"

"Are you saying that was you being romantic?"

"I don't think we're wired like normal people. And it does sound like us."

She had to give him that.

"I think all the arguing and bickering and angst was because we weren't where we were supposed to be."

"And where was that?"

He looked at her with loving exasperation. "Here. Like this. And here like this is good. There's plenty of time."

And there it was . . . Time. They were closer to the end of the year he had promised to stay than the beginning. She wouldn't bring that up now. He would offer assurances, and she would believe him. But she knew how quickly things could change. How quickly people changed. Better to stay in the moment.

"Like this at home with some dinner would be better."

"You are a woman after my own heart."

He gave her one more one-armed hug around her middle and stood, lifting Will with him.

"You are a very good boy to wait so patiently on the grown-ups."

Will's face took on the oddest expression as he looked back at Jane. The usually smiling baby looked so serious, like he was earnestly contemplating something. He suddenly shook his head at Jane in a perfect imitation of his mother. Jane hugged him close and spoke low in his ear again.

"I wish you could talk, little man. Somehow I think you've already got everything figured out."

"What did you say?" She had gathered their things and headed toward the door, looking over her shoulder at him as she turned off the light.

"Nothing, love. We were just agreeing we want you to take us home."

**END**


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